


Noxbait's Whumptober 2020

by Noxbait



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxbait/pseuds/Noxbait
Summary: 31 days of WHUMP! The poor Winchester boys are in for it! A mix of seasons, episode tags, pre-series prompts. A mix of Sam and Dean whump. Some humor, some angst, some pain to be had by all! Happy Whumptober 2020!
Comments: 85
Kudos: 104
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. No. 1: LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME

**Author's Note:**

> Happy October 1st, 2020!
> 
> This will be my first year attempting Whumptober "officially". I did it last year and had a blast but I didn't post any of the scenes. I attempted a whole story that would include all the whumpy prompts and I think I pulled it off pretty well. :) The story isn't all put together or anything, but someday may be.
> 
> This year, I decided I would actually attempt to post a whumpy prompt daily for the month of October! I've been so excited for this and nervous about my ability to pull it off! I do NOT write "short" well haha! By far, my biggest challenge this month is going to be keeping the stories short because I definitely do not have enough time to write full on stories for each prompt.
> 
> That being said, my goal is to make each prompt a satisfying little read. Some of these prompts I have no doubt will (someday) grow up into a longer, more detailed story. But not right now lol.
> 
> Special thanks to Lady-Wallace who has hosted some writing "sprints" that have helped me get some of these prompts in process. We're going to be doing some more on Saturday. Appreciate her know-how in regard to Whumptober as I'm a newbie. :) Check out her fics if you haven't already!
> 
> In this story, you'll find a mix of seasons, episode tags, pre-series fics, and a mix of both Sam and Dean whump.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Wish me luck on this project lol! :)

Prompt Options: **Waking Up Restrained** /Shackled/Hanging

* * *

Waking up restrained was _always_ a bad way to start a day.

Something incredibly heavy pinning you down was not ideal nor pleasant. It was aggravating and more than a little terrifying. Especially when you had gone to sleep comfortably and safely in your very own memory-foam-mattress equipped bed.

Especially when you were restrained at the wrists by hands with an iron grip.

Especially, _especially,_ when someone was quite literally breathing down the back of your neck with hot puffs of air.

Dean's sleep-fuzzed brain took longer than it should have to go from confused to Red Alert. He blamed it on the fact he was in his room in the Bunker. If he'd been on the road on a hunt, he would've been more alert. But he was at _home_ and he was dangerously used to letting his guard down at home.

And now someone was smothering him in his own bed.

A dozen potential scenarios ran through his mind as he prepared to fight for his life. A dozen potential scenarios that all went poof when he took a split second to tense his muscles in preparation to throw off his assailant. The moment he tensed, the hot breath went from the back of his neck to blow in his ear with one desperate word.

"Dean."

One word, spoken so softly it might as well have been inaudible. He wasn't even sure he'd actually heard his name so much as just innately _understood_ that's what his brother had so desperately whispered to him. There had been a few times over the years when an attack from his brother might have been a possibility. Possessions, addictions, nightmares, insanity a time or two. But right now, it wasn't any of those things that had Sam literally on top of him.

It was fear.

"Don't move," Sam breathed into his ear. His hands were still tightly clamped around Dean's wrists.

Some of the tension eased out of Dean's muscles. But only some. Because if Sam was on top of him, holding him down like this, something was very, very wrong. The thought of a whacked out nightmare crossed his mind again. Wouldn't be the first time Sam had come to his room, terrified out of his mind by something his freaky subconscious had dredged up.

"It's a little hard to breathe," Dean whispered, trying to prioritize.

"Harder if you're dead."

Sam could prioritize even better than he could.

Dean's eyes widened. He couldn't see much given the tangential lighting from the hallway. His muscles tightened again.

"What is going on?" he hissed.

"It's a sylph."

"And that requires you to accost me in my sleep, why?"

"I could just let it eat your face if you'd prefer," Sam muttered, his grip finally loosening but not letting up entirely.

"Well, I do appreciate your concern for my face. I'm rather fond of it. However, I'm also fond of breathing." Dean grunted, trying to shift. "Do you _have_ to stay on top of me?"

"No sudden moves," Sam whispered, slowly moving. "It was right above you when I came in here."

Dean drew in a slightly deeper breath once a couple hundred pounds of gigantic little brother finally moved off his back. Sam settled next to him on the bed, their faces inches apart and way too close for comfort.

"Not that this little sleepover hasn't been fun," Dean whispered, "but can I get my gun yet and shoot the evil fairy?"

"Technically it's not a -"

"I'm getting my gun."

"You can't kill it with a gun."

"Watch me." Dean sat up, reaching out for his Colt and rolling off the bed in one smooth motion.

He brought the gun up, ready to shoot the sylph into a thousand teensy evil fairy pieces.

And then he was flat on his back, ears ringing, black spots dancing in his vision and a slice down his left cheek that he probably would need a rabies shot for because no doubt sylph carried a thousand fairy plagues.

"I _told_ you not to make any sudden moves," Sam's disembodied voice floated to him from somewhere in the darkness.

"Did you get the little b-"

"I got it."

Dean groaned, pressing his hand to his stinging cheek. "How the hell did it get in here?"

"I might have opened a box."

"You might have opened a box." Dean rolled his eyes, warm blood under his fingertips. "Was it not labeled _Danger Do Not Open, May Contain Angry Sylph_?"

"It was not." Sam offered a hand to pull him upright.

The room spun a bit.

"You ok?" Sam asked, crouching down in front of him.

Dean glared.

"Sorry."

"What the hell were you doing opening boxes in the middle of the night?"

"Couldn't sleep." Sam shrugged.

"So you opened the box containing a pissed off sylph?"

"I didn't know that's what was in it." Sam walked over to the sink and wet a towel. "Here, put this on your face. We need to clean that cut."

"I knew those stupid fairies carry diseases!"

Sam had the nerve to laugh.

Pressing the towel to his bleeding face, Dean said, "I'm drugging you tomorrow night. That's all there is to it. I'm drugging you so you'll sleep so that _I_ can sleep without being attacked by you and Tinker Bell."

"It's six in the morning, Dean," Sam said, completely unsympathetically. "You weren't going to sleep much longer anyway."

"I _guarantee_ I would have slept longer if you hadn't jumped on me. Why couldn't you just have killed the...hey, what did you do with it?"

Sam nodded toward the trash can; upturned and with a massive book on top.

"I thought you _killed_ it!"

"This kind can't be killed," Sam said, tapping the book. "I managed to find some references to it and -"

"You know what?" Dean held up a hand. "I don't even care. Is your little sylph trap gonna keep that monster secure so it doesn't chew our faces off?"

"Yes." Sam put his boot against the trash can as the little creature inside pounded the walls of its prison. "I'll get it back into the box."

"Great. You do that. I'm making coffee." Dean threw the towel into the sink and shook a finger at his brother. "And next time there's something dangerous roaming free in here, how about you just wake me up like a normal person instead of joining me in bed?"

"Even if I have a nightmare?" Sam asked, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Dean shook his head. "Of course you can -"

He broke off when Sam started laughing.

"That's it." Dean shoved his brother into the hall. " _You're_ making breakfast. I'm taking a shower and I better smell coffee and bacon when I get out."

"What about the sylph?" Sam asked, struggling to contain his snickering.

Dean stared at his gun for a moment, but settled for adding a pair of his steel toe boots on top of the book.

Sam rolled his eyes, but started heading toward the kitchen.

Rubbing his wrists - which were definitely going to bruise - he shouted, "Bacon, Sam! Or tomorrow morning we'll see how _you_ like waking up restrained to your bed."

"Oh, kinky," Sam's voice drifted back to him, a burst of laughter following.

That was it.

Breakfast could wait. A shower could wait.

Starting the morning with some physical activity was always a good idea.

"You better run, little brother," Dean shouted, taking off down the hall. "Because I guarantee that, when I catch you, what happens next won't be kinky!"

* * *

By the time they finally sat down for breakfast, Dean was sore with bruised ribs and knees, the sylph-slice on his cheek throbbing, a mild concussion from when Sam had sent him over the library table, scraped knuckles from where he'd punched his brother for throwing him over the library table, and he had a sore stomach from laughing so hard.

Sam had a wad of napkins pressed to his still bleeding nose, he'd limped from library to kitchen on a badly bashed ankle, and hadn't stopped complaining about his left shoulder ever since Dean had shoved him into a wall.

"Next time," Sam said, his voice muffled behind the napkins, "I'm lettin' the sylph eat your face off."

"Next time," Dean said, pressing an ice pack to his head, "I'm locking my door so face-eating sylph and bed-hogging little brothers don't disturb my beauty sleep."

"If beauty is what you're going for, I have news for you…"

"Shut up and eat your bacon," Dean grumped but had trouble hiding his smile.

All in all, it hadn't been the _worst_ way he'd ever been awakened.

* * *


	2. No. 2: IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options: "Pick Who Dies", Collars, Kidnapped.
> 
> Chosen Prompt: "Pick Who Dies"
> 
> setting: pre-series

* * *

"It's a simple question."

If it wasn't for the circumstances, John Winchester would have laughed at the ludicrousness of the statement. A simple question? There was nothing simple about the question.

_Pick who dies._

That was the question. Three small words. Three simple words but there was nothing simple about the question.

_Pick who dies._

He was used to having responsibility on his shoulders. Extreme, painful, agonizing responsibility. Used to facing complex situations. Used to having to make difficult decisions on the fly. He'd had to make decisions under fire. Had to make decisions on hunts.

_Pick who dies._

John was no stranger to making difficult decisions.

"Please."

The word slipped out of his mouth, his heart speaking while his brain was trying to solve the problem.

The man's finger tightened on the trigger.

John's stomach clenched as he met his eldest son's gaze.

Dean's expression never wavered. Defiant. Angry. Unflinching in the face of death.

"Choose." The man waved the gun between John's boys. "Or I will."

They were both on their knees, hands tied behind their backs. Dean's left eye was black and swollen, his lip split, and another bruise on the right side of his jaw. He met John's gaze straight on and nodded.

_Pick me._

John didn't need to be able to hear Dean speak the words aloud to know what he was thinking.

"Pick who dies." The man taunted again. "You took my son; I'm taking one of yours."

"Your son was _already_ dead," John grated out, his brain taking over for his fearful heart. "Your son was a monster and he was killing people."

"He was my _son!_ "

It was like a bullet to the heart. Agony ripping and shredding through John's heart and soul. Because he was a father, too. A father with two sons that he would do anything for. A father who would kill for his boys and never think twice.

"He was my _son,_ and you killed him!" The man's hand and voice were shaking. The gun not lowering, but trembling in his hand.

"I'm sorry," John's heart spoke over his brain screaming at him to _do something!_ "I'm sorry about your son."

Sam's gaze finally lifted. He'd been staring down at the filthy cement floor beneath him and now that he looked up, John could see the tear stains running down his cheeks, his nose bleeding. He'd been a teenager for five whole days and was now on his knees before a madman, terrified for his life.

_What have I done?_

John wasn't sure if it was his heart or his brain speaking this time. All he knew was that he'd made the choices that had led to this moment. Choices with the best of intentions perhaps, but choices all the same. Choices that had turned them into a small army, homeless and drifting. Choices that had broken both his boys in different ways and now had them facing death at the hand of a heartbroken father.

"Pick who dies!"

Both of his boys flinched at the shout.

"Me!" John shouted back, stepping forward, hands empty of weapons and outstretched as he fell to his knees. "Let my boys go and kill me."

"Dad!" Sam screamed at the same moment Dean yelled, "No!"

John's heart broke even as he prepared to take a bullet.

But no bullet slammed into his chest. No bullet was fired at all, in fact.  
Both of his sons were fighting at the ropes around their wrists. Dean was threatening, fury in his tone while Sam was begging, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. The man behind them was immobile, the gun still in his hand, but he made no move to use it.

"I'm sorry about your son," John said, brain and heart working together. "I'm sorry I didn't save him before he was turned. I'm sorry I didn't get here in time to stop the monster and save your son. I'm sorry."

Saying he was sorry did not come as naturally to him as making tough choices, but this time it was all he had. And he _meant_ it. He regretted every monster he hadn't been able to kill. Regretted every innocent life that had been lost because he had been too late.

He regretted that he'd left the man across from him a heartbroken, grieving father.

"Please don't hurt my boys." His voice cracked as he begged.

The man across from him raised the gun - aimed straight at his head.

John closed his eyes.

The gun went off, but John opened his eyes.

He wasn't dead.

A shock ran through him as he stared at the scene before him.

Both of his sons had gotten free of their bindings. Dean had wrestled the gun out of the man's hand while Sam had shoved him hard into the wall.

As John rose to his feet, Dean pointed the gun at the man.

"Dean," Sam spoke up softly before John could get his voice to work. "Don't hurt him."

"Please." The man held his hands up as tears ran down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He repeated the words over and over until John felt tears prickling in his own eyes.

"I won't hurt him," Dean said, lowering the gun. His tone was steel as he said to the man, "But if you _ever_ touch my brother again, if you _ever_ try to hurt my family, I will _end_ you."

The man nodded frantically, then lowered his face to his hands, sobbing brokenly.

"Boys," John called, his heart in his throat as he got to his feet.

They both turned toward him, leaving the poor man crying behind them.

"Dad?" Dean asked, looking strung tight, but with a glimpse of fear and vulnerability beneath the surface. He was holding his brother's shoulder with a white-knuckled grip as they walked across the room.

"You two ok?" He rested a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Yes, sir," they said in perfect unison.

They weren't ok. Not really. But they were ok enough to patch each other up in the car.

"Impala's out front. Go get cleaned up. I'll be right there."

Dean nodded, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. Sam was wiping his eyes as he walked away. Neither of them looked back as they left.

John waited until they were outside, then crossed the room slowly. He crouched a few feet away from the man who had threatened his children. It took a moment, then the man looked up. He looked terrified.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save your son," John said quietly.

The man squeezed his eyes closed, then nodded, trying to pull himself together.

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes." The man wiped his eyes. "I have two younger children."

John nodded, standing up. He held out a hand and said, "You need to go home to your family."

It took a moment, then the man took his hand and rose to his feet.

"Go home." John squeezed his shoulder and made sure he held eye contact with the traumatized man.

The man nodded, walking away. His shoulders were squared and his steps slow, but determined. Hopefully, he would be ok. Hopefully, he would be there for his remaining family.

John watched him go, then turned to walk out to the Impala.

* * *

Time to be there for _his_ remaining family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 3: MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY: Manhandled, Forced to Their Knees, Held at Gunpoint


	3. No. 3: MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options: Manhandled, forced to their knees, held at gunpoint
> 
> Chosen Prompt: Manhandled
> 
> setting: after Mary leaves in The Foundry, S12, episode 3

* * *

They were shoving each other — Dean and the guy he was hustling at pool — and trading insults and nasty comments and Sam probably should have _already_ intervened, but he was quite frankly too tired to bother.

Dean was a big boy and knew how to take care of himself even if he was often too stupid to do so.

Sam sighed, headache spiking as much due to the shouting match across the bar as due to his uncharitable thoughts. He pressed a hand to his throbbing temple but kept an eye on his brother. Dean wasn't out of control - yet. It wouldn't take much longer, though.

It had been a bad evening.

He could still hear the slam of the Bunker door after Mom had left.

Dean had vanished in the opposite direction without a word. Sam had let him be for a good hour or so before looking for him. The Impala had been washed and waxed and Dean was settling behind the wheel. He didn't look as upset as Sam had expected - probably the car detailing had helped - but he looked on the verge of out of control. Sam had rushed to get into the passenger seat before Dean could drive away without him.

They hadn't talked on the drive. Hadn't talked when they'd settled side by side at the bar. Hadn't talked even after a few rounds of alcohol had eased some of the tension in Dean's body. Dean had finally stood up, clapped Sam on the shoulder, then wandered toward the pool table, beer in hand.

An hour later and he was not-quite-stumbling-drunk, but pretty damn close.

The shouting went up another notch and Sam set aside the bottle of beer he'd been nursing. He shifted, waiting. The guy was right up in Dean's face now, a tobacco stained finger pounding into Dean's chest. On an ordinary night, Dean could handle the guy without breaking a sweat. Even tonight, he could probably handle him.

The problem was, tonight? Tonight, Dean didn't _want_ to handle the guy.

He _wanted_ to fight the guy. He wanted a fight and the guy was gearing up to give it to him.

While Sam was grateful Dean wasn't yelling at him or shoving him into a wall, he didn't want to have to bail his brother out of jail or take him to an emergency room. The night had been bad enough already.

So he dragged himself to his feet.

Head throbbing even worse, he made his way across the room even as his thoughts lingered on the events of earlier.

Mom had been there and then she'd walked out and none of it made any sense.

He hadn't even really adapted to the thought of her _existing_ and then she was gone again. She'd been pictures and illusion and heartbroken stories and a childhood spent on the road. She'd always been his mom, but she'd never really… _been._ And then she was. And now she wasn't again. She said she loved them, but she left and Sam didn't know how to make sense of that.

Dean obviously was at as much of a loss as he was or they wouldn't be in a bar and Dean wouldn't be gearing up for a fight.

The first punch flew before Sam could prevent it. The guy stayed on his feet and threw a return punch that had Dean stumbling into the wall. Dean was back at the guy in a heartbeat, his stance unsteady, but his next punch knocked the guy into the pool table. People were circling and all Sam could think about was how much he was not in the mood for this.

Working out frustration - heartbreak - was fine, and Dean definitely had different ways of doing that than he did. Well, his brother could just give him an earful on the way back to the bunker because this was ending. Now.

Sam stepped between his brother and the other guy, catching the guy's next punch in his hand. Gripping the guy's fist, Sam pushed him backwards. Firmly, not forcefully.

"He's done," Sam said, not letting the man go. "Understood?"

The guy nodded, his eyes widening. He backed off and Sam let him go.

Turning to face his brother, Sam dodged a swinging fist and grabbed his brother's jacket. He shoved him into the wall a little less gently than he'd meant to.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean shouted, his hands already coming up to push and punch. "Was in the middle of-"

"Not any more, you're not."

Dean continued struggling and sputtering and cursing and complaining all the way out to the Impala. He was a bit more drunk than Sam had realized. It made him heavy and unsteady, but less coordinated which meant it wasn't difficult to manhandle him into the passenger side of the car.

Sam took a long, deep breath after he slammed the door on his brother's angry shouts.

He walked around the car, then slid behind the wheel.

The cursing and complaining from his unwilling passenger continued, but Sam ignored it. The headache was more distracting than Dean's drunken anger and the weariness swept over Sam in a wave. He wanted to go to sleep, but the lingering echo of the Bunker door heavily closing behind their mom left him considering other options.

Dean's tirade had died down to silence by the time Sam parked the Impala at the motel just outside of town. He didn't say anything when Sam went into the office or when he moved the car in front of the last room at the end of the row. Sam kept the keys to the car, but didn't bother to prod or yank his brother to come with him. If Dean wanted, he could sleep in the car, but he wouldn't be going anywhere without the keys and those wouldn't be surrendered without a fight.

Leaving the door unlocked, Sam didn't bother turning on a light; just collapsed onto the bed and pressed his face into the pillow.

A few moments later, the door opened then closed. The lock turned. A heavy sigh. Jacket over the chair and boots thudding onto the carpet. The other bed creaked as Dean sat down.

Sam peered at his brother in the gloomy sliver of light that crept in around the curtain.

Dean ran his hand through his hair, grimaced, then flexed his fingers. He stared down at his hand, absently rubbing his knuckles. After a minute, he glanced up, briefly meeting Sam's gaze before easing himself down on the bed.

The silence stretched on and on even though neither of them were sleeping.

He should probably say something. Something to help his brother. Offer him something. _She'll come back_ sounded good on paper, but Sam didn't have that kind of confidence in the virtual stranger that was his mother.

"I'm not leaving," he whispered instead, because that... _that_ he did have confidence in.

"I know." Dean sounded tired, but not angry. Sounded oddly at peace. He shifted on the bed and said, "Get some sleep, Sammy."

So he did.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! I loved how this one turned out. Thank you for all the kudos and encouraging reviews! :) I truly cherish each and every one of them. They get me through the long days at work and encourage me to get back to writing every single time I want to give up.
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 4: RUNNING OUT OF TIME: Caged, Buried Alive, Collapsed Building


	4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning! Thank you all for the wonderful and encouraging reviews! These little scenes aren't beta'd or perhaps as well polished/nuanced as some of my other stories. but hey, it's day four and i've posted each day thus far lol. That's something. :) I'm definitely enjoying these little scenes as well as the challenge to keep them SHORT (not one of my strong suits lol) while still keeping them satisfying.
> 
> Hope you enjoy today's installment!
> 
> Prompt Options: Caged, Buried Alive, Collapsed Building
> 
> Chosen Prompt: Collapsed Building

* * *

There was a pipe leaking somewhere to the left. Or maybe it was to the right. Any sense of direction had left Sam long ago. Right about the time the building had collapsed around him.

And under him. And above him.

Sure, it had been an old building. Like Old West old. _Old._ They'd been careful, though. Taken no unnecessary risks. The thought was almost enough to make Sam smile, but not quite.

For one thing his head was pounding and his _everything_ hurt. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't throbbing. The pain was so all consuming that he didn't even know _what_ was broken or punctured or impaled or shattered in ten pieces.

The _drip drip drip_ of the leaking pipe moved back to the forefront of his mind. It was distracting and irritating and comforting all at the same time.

Kind of like his brother.

The one he was still waiting on to come rescue him.

His phone rang somewhere off to the right. He'd dropped it in the fall and hadn't been able to reach it. It had been ringing off and on over and over. All he could hope was that Dean wouldn't give up calling before the battery died.

Or he did.

Sam forced his eyes open. Not that it mattered; it was too dark to see. But he knew he needed to stay awake.

_Keep your eyes open._

His subconscious sounded a lot like his brother.

Always bossing him around. Always telling him what to do or not do.

_Stay awake._

Bossy, but comforting. A strange combination.

_Hang on, just hang on. I'm almost there._

Sam frowned. The voice in his head seemed like less of a voice in his head now and more like…

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Right here."

And then something warm and alive and gentle was on his cheek, smearing away blood and dirt. All the pain faded into the background. His brother's fingers on his face became the only sensation Sam could feel. Everything in him relaxed at the contact.

"Hey, keep your eyes open," Dean's voice was louder now. "Come on, stay with me."

Sam blinked, staring into his brother's eyes.

They were tight with worry, but brightened as Dean grinned. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Morning?" The word came out slurred and slow. His mouth seemed glued shut.

"Yep. I hope you slept well because I spent all night digging through the rubble so I'm hungry and cranky."

Sam huffed a laugh, his breath catching on a groan as something in his chest protested.

"Ok, ok, no humor. Take it easy." Dean was close enough their foreheads touched.

The contact was reassuring, but a bolt of panic speared through Sam at the realization he couldn't move. At all. Everything tensed and he shifted, a scream tearing out of his throat.

"Sam. Hey. Look at me. Look at me!"

They were almost nose to nose. Dean's hand was in his hair, tugging with gentleness one wouldn't expect from someone who hunted monsters. Sam blinked again, dirt falling in his face. Dean brushed it away, never breaking their gaze.

"Just stay still," Dean said, softly. "They've almost got you out. You just gotta stay still."

"They?"

"Rescue crew. Earthquakes, man. We've got the worst luck, don't we?"

Sam tended to agree, but couldn't form a reply.

Somewhere above… below? Somewhere there was sunshine where there hadn't been a moment ago. Sam squeezed his eyes closed with a moan as the brightness exploded in his head.

"I know, I know." Dean was shifting around, his hand moving over Sam's eyes.

A minute...an hour? Sometime later, there were voices and movement and things happening and panic started to bubble up again, but Dean was right there, talking to him, touching him, keeping him still and calm.

Something shifted and he was able to move his hand. Fingers were numb, clumsy, but clasped a familiar leather jacket.

"Almost there," Dean said, his hand still over Sam's eyes. "They're gonna get you out and we'll check out the local hospital. See if there're any hot nurses."

There was some laughter around them. The rescue crew. Sam didn't laugh, but he managed a small smile at his brother's humor.

Someone moved next to him and it must have been a medic because a blood pressure cuff went around one arm and an IV into the other. They asked him questions, but he couldn't think. Couldn't answer. It was taking everything he had just to stay awake. Some of the pain eased. They must have given him something. Just enough to take the edge off as they moved him.

He wasn't being crushed any more. Was being lifted on a hard board, but Dean's hand was still over his eyes. He was still talking and Sam still had his own fingers clamped around Dean's jacket.

"I've got you," Dean said, grabbing Sam's hand and squeezing. "Just hang on to me, ok?"

Sam had been hanging on to Dean his entire life and he wasn't going to stop now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 5: WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING: On the Run, Failed Escape, Rescue


	5. No. 5: WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options; On the Run, Failed Escape, Rescue
> 
> Prompt(s) Chosen: Failed Escape, Rescue

* * *

"Where do you think you're going?"

The statement was a freakin' cliché. That was Dean's first thought. Not _crap, I was so close to being free_ or _I am so screwed now._ No, all he could think was how much of a crappy movie cliché it was for someone to be asking him that as he tried (and failed) to escape. The click of a gun was just as much a cliché. Of course, the shapeshifter-goon behind him was a total cliché too, so it wasn't really a surprise.

"Just gettin' some fresh air." Instead of putting his hands up, he crossed them over his chest, turning to stare down his captor. "Can't a man take a walk now and then?"

"Sure." The shifter nodded, his stringy hair falling in his face. "Take a walk back where you came from."

The gun was pointing at the nondescript little room he'd been cooped up in for nearly three days.

Dean shrugged. "Technically, I'm _from_ Kansas."

"You're funny." A tobacco stained grin. A meaty hand around his arm. A gun in his jaw.

"Hilarious, even. I like the funny ones."

"Happy to oblige," Dean muttered around the steel being shoved into his cheek.

The shifter pushed him back toward the room - _closet_.

It had only been three days. Just three days. Not three weeks. Sure, it was a tiny closet. Bit cramped, bit dark, but not the worst accommodations he'd ever had the misfortune to experience. It wasn't that bad. It really wasn't.

The shifter shoved him and Dean threw his arms out, hands gripping the door jamb.

"No," he said, trying to hold his desperation in check. "No. I'm not going back in there."

Three days was a long time in a very small space.

"Yeah, you are."

The shifter smashed the butt of his gun against the back of Dean's head and the lights went out.

* * *

The next time Dean made it out of the room, he wound up with a baseball bat to the gut that left him breathless and retching in the dirt. The shifter didn't say anything, just dragged him back into the room. This time, though, he wasn't left free to pace the ever-shrinking room. No, this time it was clear the shifter was finished playing nice.

Dean wound up with his wrists chained to the wall above his head. The cement floor beneath him was cold and uncomfortable, but it was better than standing. Still gasping and coughing, he rested his head back against the wall as the shifter duct taped his ankles together.

He wasn't going anywhere.

That's when the legitimate despair crept over him, stealing his breath even more than the baseball bat's blow had done.

He was going to die. In this tiny little closet. Locked down like a civilian. So much for being an experienced hunter. He was going to die bound and alone.

The worst of it was that he knew Sam wouldn't even _know._

Any other time in their entire lives it wouldn't have worked. Any other time in their entire lives, Sam would have known it wasn't him. Just like in St. Louis all those years ago. But this wasn't like any other time in their entire lives.

Dean gave the chains one hard yank, cursing with both pain and frustration.

Sam was so screwed up with the hallucinations that the shifter wearing Dean's face probably had him totally convinced. They hadn't even suspected shifters on this hunt, so Sam wouldn't have even the slightest reason to suspect the Dean he was with was not the original model. They were probably a hundred miles away by now in fact. The shifter telling him lies and keeping him confused and compliant.

Dean retched again, bringing up nothing but saliva. Just the thought of his extremely vulnerable brother with a monster beside him was utterly terrifying. Sam barely knew his own name half the time these days; it was highly unlikely he'd be able to distinguish a shifter from the real deal.

Helpless didn't begin to cover what Dean was feeling.

It was completely futile, but he tried to escape the bonds. Tried everything and then tried everything again. There was just no hope. He was secured too well and far too weak. To say nothing of the deep injury in his abdomen. Something was bleeding, he'd had enough injuries to know. It was just a matter of time.

Too tired to hold his head up, it dipped low over his chest and his eyes fell closed.

* * *

He was surprised when he opened his eyes.

For one thing, he was surprised he was alive and able to open his eyes. For another thing, he was surprised to see pale cream colored walls instead of dirty, pitted, and cracked drywall. There was a familiar sort of beeping nearby. Starchy sheets and a pillow over his head.

Dean frowned. That didn't make any sense. At all. He was dead. Had to be. This was some weird dead-dream because there'd been no chance of him escaping or being rescued so he was obviously dead.

"Good morning," a soft, feminine voice said.

Tilting his head to the right, he grimaced as the tiny movement sparked agony in every inch of his body.

"Try to relax," the voice said. A face came into focus. A pretty one. A pretty blonde in Scooby Doo scrubs.

"Awesome," Dean mumbled, his voice shredded, his throat burning. He tried for a smile.

The nurse smiled back and they played a round of orientation questions that he mostly passed.

"How…" He swallowed hard, trying to focus his thoughts.

"How did you get here?"

Dean nodded.

The nurse smiled again and nodded to his left.

Following her gaze made his headache spike, but it was worth it.

Sam was slumped next to the bed. One elbow on the bed rail, his head rested in his hand. He was sound asleep.

"He found you," the nurse said, setting the call light next to his right hand. "Got you away from that serial killer and brought you here. That's some brother you have. Mine doesn't even remember my birthday. I don't think he'd fight off a serial killer for me."

Dean didn't reply as the nurse left the room. He was too busy coming to terms with the fact that he was alive and that _Sam_ had been the one to find him. A thousand questions filled his mind, but he would save them for later because Sam needed the sleep.

Of course, just because Sam _needed_ the sleep didn't mean he was going to get any. He startled awake just as Dean was about to drift back to sleep himself. There was all too familiar panic and fear in Sam's eyes as he straightened and frantically looked around the room.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice rough but calm. "Look at me."

Sam did and some of the fear faded a bit, but not enough for Dean's peace of mind. He reached out and grabbed Sam's hand - the one with the slowly healing scar. His grip was embarrassingly weak, but it was enough to finally chase away the rest of the panic in Sam's eyes. Now, he just looked worried.

"Dean, how are you -"

"I'm swell." Dean yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Sleep now. Talk later."

Sam nodded, having just as much trouble staying alert as Dean was. He lowered the bed rail with his free hand, then leaned forward and rested his head on the edge of the bed. The position looked anything but comfortable, but he was out like a light the instant his head hit the mattress.

Their hands still entwined, Dean closed his eyes.

Anyone who saw would probably think they were odd, but he didn't care. He might be the one in the hospital bed, but he was still the big brother. If Sam needed the contact to be able to sleep, so be it. Dean would lie to his dying day, but the contact was helping to ground him, too. Reminding him he was safe. Not in that tiny room, frantic with fear for his brother, slowly dying chained to a wall.

No, he decided as he drifted to sleep, he didn't care what anyone thought of them.

Some people's brothers didn't remember birthdays. _His_ brother saved his life. Over and over and over.

That was something to be proud of.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this little scene originally ended right after the shifter knocked Dean out the first time. I was going to leave it as it was, but decided that was a pretty crummy place to leave it lol! You're welcome! ;) It would've been a nice, painful ending, but I'm glad I kept going. I actually wound up getting TWO of the prompts for the price of one this time. And some nice brother h/c. This one I definitely would like to explore more in a longer fic.
> 
> thank you for reading and all the incredibly lovely reviews and kudos! They're so encouraging. :)
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 6: PLEASE…: "Get it Out", No More, "Stop, please"
> 
> little spoiler? I hit all three of those prompts in tomorrow's fic. mwhahahahaha!


	6. No. 6: PLEASE...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options: "Get it Out", No More, "Stop, please"
> 
> Prompt(s) Chosen: All of 'em! :) 
> 
> Setting: pre-series

* * *

"Stop, please!"

"Sam-"

"Just for a...just for a minute, please." He was breathless with pain, eyes squeezed tight.

"A minute." Dean's hand, shaking ever so slightly, rested on his forehead. "Breathe."

Sam gasped in a short breath that turned into a groan of pain. Breathing wasn't supposed to be this hard. He'd been doing it his whole life. A whole thirteen years. Should've been a pro at it by now.

Dean was talking to him, trying to calm him down but nothing he could say would fix the shattering pain in Sam's leg.

"Sammy, I gotta keep working." Dean sounded like he was having trouble breathing, too. "Gotta get this secure so we can go."

"No more." Sam's nearly numb fingertips found his brother's sleeve and grasped with the paltry strength they had left. "No. No, no, stop."

Dean didn't stop. His jaw clenched, he easily dislodged his arm from Sam's grip. He went back to carefully wrapping Sam's leg, securing the impaling piece of rebar so it wouldn't shift as they moved.

The already dark warehouse went another shade darker as a buzzing noise blocked every other sound out.

And then Dean was practically nose to nose with him. Shouting. Cold, shaking fingers on Sam's face. Fear in his green eyes. His skin gone sheet white.

"Sammy, you gotta stay with me, man."

The words came in shockingly clear amidst the static in Sam's head.

"Dean," he whispered, or at least he hoped he had.

"Right here, right here." Dean pressed his forehead against Sam's, then straightened, smiling. "Just hang on, ok? I'm gonna get you outta here and then we'll get you to the hospital and you get some stitches and a Power Rangers bandaid or ten and then you get to stay in bed for a week and watch all the dumb tv you want and eat all the junk food you can handle, ok?"

The words were a jumble. Supposed to be funny. Supposed to be reassuring. And they were. But the fear in his tone was less reassuring. Sam had seen what his leg had looked like - right before he'd passed out the first time - and it was no wonder Dean sounded completely freaked out.

The mere memory of the sight of the rebar sticking out of his leg instilled a renewed sense of panic into Sam.

"Dean, get it out!"

Tears ran down his cheeks into his ears, sending him into a vicious bout of shivering.

"I can't take it out, could do too much damage." Dean was gritting his teeth again, focusing on the task.

"Please," Sam begged. He didn't care about the damage. He was _already_ damaged. He just wanted to "Get it out!"

Dean didn't respond this time, too focused on what he was doing which, Sam vaguely knew, was saving his life.

But he was too far gone to care. He was in too much pain to care. He started crying in earnest, shock sending him completely out of control.

And then Dean was hauling him upright, making his head spin. The motion turned his stomach inside out and he threw up all over himself. Dean just gathered him closer, pulling him into his arms. A moment later, Dean was on his feet and they were moving.

The pain and fear were still sharp and overwhelming, but everything was going to be fine. Sam rested his head against Dean's shoulder and let the darkness sweep him under.

As long as Dean had him, everything was going to be fine.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is on the short side. I wanted to go on and get to some lovely H/C/brother care after, but if I'd gone on, it would probably have turned into a 20 chapter novel lol. Perhaps some day it (and some of the others) will, these prompts are all delightfully addicting, but for now, I had to stick with short and sweet. Hopefully the ending was satisfying. :) I think I only have one (so far) that ends on a less-satisfying more-sad note. Otherwise, i'm trying really hard to wrap each of these up in a satisfying conclusion. :)
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 7: I'VE GOT YOU, Support, Carrying, Enemy to Caretaker


	7. No. 7: I'VE GOT YOU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for the fantastic notes and the kudos! Trust me, I want to write the 20 chapter (...or 40 chapter?) fics to go along with most of these prompts haha! I'm sure that someday I will expand on some of these. But for now, just trying to focus on a "complete" scene of whump with a "semi-happy" ending (most of the time anyway). I'm so thrilled at how much everyone's loving these little snippets! I've never tried a month of posting every day and it's a new and exciting challenge for me! Thanks for all the encouragement!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Prompt Options: Support, Carrying, Enemy to Caretaker
> 
> Prompt Chosen: Support
> 
> Setting: anytime s13 or later

* * *

"This is bad. _Hospital_ bad."

Dean gritted his teeth both at his brother's statement and his first aid. Leaning against a tree, Dean had his eyes squeezed shut as Sam worked on his knee. The pain was intense and it was taking every bit of his concentration not to cry out every time Sam touched him. Logically, Dean knew Sam was being exceedingly gentle.

Not logically? It felt like Sam was trying to rip his leg off at the knee.

"Son of a-" he broke off with a shout of pain that he just couldn't hold back.

"Sorry," Sam said, gentling his touch even more. "Hang on."

Dean groaned, lightheadedness beginning to sweep over him in nauseating waves. Even with his eyes closed, he was seeing stars. His respiratory system wasn't connected to his knee as far as he knew, but it sure seemed to be having its own issues. He gasped in a frantic breath.

"Hey, hey, slow down." Sam's hand was on the side of his face. "Look at me."

Forcing his eyes open, Dean stared into his brother's concerned eyes.

"You're hyperventilating," Sam said, moving his hand to Dean's chest. "Slow down before you pass out."

Passing out sounded _ah-may-zing_ but Dean nodded, gritting his teeth and struggling to follow Sam's coaching. It took a few moments, but slowly he was able to bring himself under control.

"You...got a future," he struggled to get the words out, "as a...birth coach...teach that...breathing thing…"

"Stop talking and just breathe." Sam was back to working on his knee.

"See?" Dean tried for a grin. "You're awesome at it."

"Thank you."

"What's it called?" Dean tore out a handful of grass, his head banging against the tree as Sam wrapped his knee and the agony increased.

"What's what called?"

"The...ow, damn it! Careful!"

"I'm trying to be."

Dean sucked in a slow, deep breath. Sam might be _trying_ to be careful, but it sure didn't feel that way.

"So...what's the breathing thing called?" Dean struggled to focus on anything except the agony.

"I don't know."

"You don't?"

Sam looked up at him, incredulous. "Why on earth would I know?"

"I don't know… you know things."

Snorting, Sam went back to work as he said, "Well, I don't know that. You can ask the nurses when we get you to the hospital, ok?"

"Ok." Dean agreed just to keep from cursing his brother out at the pain he was inflicting.

"Alright." Sam sat back, immediately packing up their gear. "We need to get you up and out of here."

Dean just groaned.

"I'm sorry." Sam patted his shoulder.

"You don't look sorry." Dean glared at his brother even though none of this was his fault.

Sam didn't smile, just said, "I'm actually a lot more _worried_ than I am sorry."

"Well that isn't good."

"No. It isn't." Sam was staring at his knee.

Dean could _feel_ how not good it was, but sitting here wasn't going to fix the problem. Suddenly, visions of vials of really powerful painkillers danced through his mind. All he had to do was get up, walk a mile or so through a dense forest, get in the Impala, and go about thirty miles to the nearest hospital.

No big deal.

He turned to the side and vomited in the dirt.

This time Sam was the one swearing.

Once he'd emptied his stomach, he waved a hand for his brother to start the process of getting him up on his feet. No time like the present.

By the time he was standing, they'd both exhausted their extensive profanity collection. They were both sweating and Dean was pondering the merits of passing out and just letting Sam carry him all the way to the car. It sounded like an awesome plan except Sam would never let him hear the end of it.

So Dean steeled himself and put his weight on his good leg, hobbling forward.

They didn't talk for awhile, both too focused on merely keeping Dean upright. It didn't exactly get _easier_ as they walked, but they found their rhythm and started actually making progress on their trek. Dean tried to take as much of his weight as he could and failed miserably. Sam was struggling to hold him up and also had all of their gear. There wasn't much Dean could do, though. Adding to the challenge was the slight issue of _size._

"You made a better crutch when you were a foot shorter."

Sam laughed.

"It's not funny. You're no use to me as a freakin' giant."

"So I was useless when you needed me to get that box off the shelf last week?"

"I could've gotten it," Dean said, hobbling unsteadily.

"What about when you made that stupid bet at the bar in Nashville and I was kind enough to dunk the basketball to save you three hundred bucks?"

He sucked in a pained breath, then muttered, "I could've dunked that ball."

"Sure you could have." Sam grinned, far too amused.

Dean gritted his teeth. Every step was an explosion of pain in his knee. Despite Sam supporting most of his weight, every tiny movement _hurt._ It wasn't the first or twentieth time he'd injured his knee, but every time seemed worse than the last. If he needed a damned knee replacement...the bluster and anger went out of him in a groan. If he needed one, he'd just have to get one. That was all there was to it. Couldn't do his job on a bum knee.

"Hanging in there?" Sam asked, slowing his step and shifting a bit to take more of Dean's weight.

"Can't do much _but_ hang since you're not the right height for this sort of thing."

Sam snorted. "Dude, haven't you gotten over this yet? I've been taller than you for a long time now. You really should be past the anger stage by now."

"Grief is a _cycle,_ Sam. I'm back at the anger stage. It happens."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go get the car and -"

"I can make it." Dean gritted his teeth again, looking at the uphill climb ahead.

It was still a long way to the car, but Dean knew he'd make it. Knew he'd make it even if a knee replacement was in his future. Knew he'd make it through anything and everything. Because he had support.

Support that might be a few inches taller than him, but would never let him fall.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such sympathy for Dean's poor knee lol. Well, now that I've busted up both boy's legs in the last two prompts haha... on to other forms of whump for tomorrow! FYI: tomorrow's carries a tissue warning...
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 8: WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? , "Don't Say Goodbye", Abandoned, Isolation


	8. No. 8: WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options: "Don't Say Goodbye", Abandoned, Isolation
> 
> Prompt(s) Chosen: Abandoned, Isolation
> 
> setting; pre-series

* * *

Another day, another empty room.

Sam threw his backpack against the far wall. It crashed against the cracked drywall and sent dust flying. Didn't matter much because there'd already been a hole there. The entire place - a tiny one bedroom abandoned house - was already falling apart. Wasn't like one more hole was going to matter in the long run.

The door didn't lock, but he twisted the lock out of automatic reflex anyway. The windows were gone so it wasn't like someone couldn't just crawl through without even bothering with a door. The garbage bags he'd taped over the gaping holes didn't do anything about the autumn chill or block out the sunlight in the morning, but it was better than nothing.

The house was in the middle of nowhere. A long walk from school. A long walk from _anywhere_.

Sam sat on the single, rickety chair at the rickety table.

It was almost five. He had homework he could do. There was a pizza in the freezer that he could throw in the miraculously still functional oven. Dean had even left him a couple cans of Coke.

It was Friday night and he didn't _have_ to start his homework. He had the whole weekend.

_The whole weekend here in the middle of nowhere._

_Alone._

He glanced around the room, a chill running through him at the isolation. He was safe - Dad had made sure of that before he and Dean had left on the hunt. They'd been gone three days so far and weren't going to get back till Sunday at the earliest.

"They _are_ coming back," he whispered to the empty room.

He hadn't been abandoned or forgotten even if sometimes that was exactly what it felt like. It was to keep him safe - being left behind like this.

Sighing, he checked his phone. No messages. He wasn't supposed to call except for emergencies and loneliness didn't count.

He should get up and make the pizza and have a Coke and read a book. Enjoy his privacy and the gift of being able to do exactly what he wanted to do.

Except all he really wanted to do was be with his dad and brother.

Sam pushed up from the table and crossed the room to the single mattress in the corner. He wasn't hungry and he didn't want to do anything.

So he crawled under the covers and didn't do anything for the next two days.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tissue?
> 
> Sorry for a sad one the day of SPN's return! Didn't intend to do that. This was just the little scene that popped into my head for these prompts. wrote it several days ago and hadn't even realized it was SPN's premier tonight. It was short and not sweet, but I hope it was an ok read. :)
> 
> i hope we all get a good episode to enjoy and that our last few days with the Winchester brothers are better than we might expect. I have PILES of stories yet to come so never fear, I'm not going anywhere!
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt has some tension, some angst, some brother humor and banter...and...maybe a hug? yup. there's definitely a hug. :D
> 
> Tomorrow's Theme/Prompts: No. 9: FOR THE GREATER GOOD, "Take Me Instead", "Run!", Ritual Sacrifice


	9. No. 9: FOR THE GREATER GOOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning! Well I won't say anything spoiler-y for those who might not have seen the episode, but I enjoyed it! :)
> 
> Prompt Options: "Take Me Instead", "Run!", Ritual Sacrifice
> 
> Chosen Option(s): "Take Me Instead", "Run!"
> 
> Set s14 after Michael was finally expelled from Dean for good.

* * *

"No! Take me instead!"

Dean heard the words come out of his little brother's mouth, and - had he not been handcuffed with a gun at his head - he would have punched him.

"Sam, _run_!" Dean shouted.

This was only going to work if he did what the man with the gun told him to do and if Sam _ran._ Dean had already made the agreement. His life for his brother's.

Sam looked at him, horror in his eyes as he shook his head.

"Now!"

This time his shout prompted Sam into action. He turned and ran. It was exactly what he was supposed to do, of course, but watching him run chilled Dean to his core. Because now he was well and truly alone. No one to stand by him or rescue him when things went bad. Who was he kidding? Things had already gone bad.

But at least Sam would get away and survive. Dying wasn't top on his list, but he could accept it as long as he knew his brother was going to be alive. So he set his jaw and prepared to die.

But then he didn't die.

He flinched at the report from the rifle. The man holding him at gunpoint thudded to the ground at his side. Dean immediately stood up and kicked the gun away from him, his mind reeling as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. The snap of a twig somewhere above him attracted his attention.

Their gear. It had been tucked behind a fallen tree up on the crest of the hill. Looking up, he saw his brother standing there, the rifle in his hands.

"What were you thinking?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "I told you to run."

"I did run." Sam started down the hill. He looked pale and he looked angry and a whole lot scared. "I ran to the gear, you idiot."

Dean looked at the dead guy in the dirt, a chill running through him at how close it had been. He looked back up at Sam and said, "I'm glad you went for the rifle, but you should've just-"

"Should've just what? Just left you?" Sam shouted, only a foot away now. "Should've let him _kill_ you?"

"Well...no." Dean frowned, trying to figure out the right thing to say.

"Then, what? Did you really expect me just to run like a scared kid and leave you to die?"

Sam was fired up and furious and Dean took a step backwards.

"I just got you back, damn it!" Sam shouted, stepping right back into Dean's space again. "Stop being such a self-sacrificing jerk to protect me-"

"It's kind of my default setting," Dean interrupted, trying for levity.

"I know it is." Sam's tone went down a notch from fury. "I know. But, you gotta turn that setting off, man. We're not kids anymore and I'm not leaving you. I'm never just going to walk away and let you die. You know that right?"

Dean nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Sam nodded, too, then stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders. It was an awkward hug with his hands still cuffed behind his back, but Sam didn't seem to care.

"Don't ask me to do something you can't do," he whispered.

The lump in his throat was even bigger now and all Dean could do was nod again.

Sam took a deep breath, then pulled back, his eyes downcast, one hand still on Dean's shoulder.

They both glanced at the body. When Sam kept staring for longer than was probably necessary, Dean pulled away from his grasp, turning and waving his cuffed hands.

"Could you get me out of this so we can deal with that guy and go?"

"I should make you wear them all the way home," Sam muttered.

Dean snorted, wiggling his hands again. "Get me free or you'll have to feed me a burger and fries by hand-"

"Who said anything about food?" Sam was rifling through his pockets.

"-and then you'll have to help me in the bathroom and -"

"Alright, alright. You're an idiot."

"I'm your idiot," Dean said before he thought through the statement.

Sam laughed, picking the lock and working the cuffs free.

"That didn't come out right." Dean turned around, rubbing his wrists.

"Yeah. It did." Sam smiled, but he wasn't laughing now.

There was something much deeper and more sincere in his eyes. Amused affection mingled with the _what could have been_ fear they experienced all too often. Coming so recently after the fiasco with Michael, it wasn't surprising.

"Maybe it did," Dean acquiesced with a shrug. "Well, this idiot is hungry and tired and vaguely pissed off."

"So. Default setting, huh?" Sam grinned.

Dean settled for a glare.

They worked together to clean up the scene and then left together.

As far as he was concerned, _together_ was their default setting.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 10: THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED, blood loss, internal bleeding, trail of blood.


	10. No. 10: THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! This one is on the shorter side (many apologies). I wanted to make it longer but work has been exhausting and this was just as far as I could get it. However, judging from the fantastic feedback, I have 31 "teasers" for 31 stories yet to come hahaha!!!!! 
> 
> Prompt Options: Blood Loss, Internal Bleeding, Trail of Blood
> 
> Chosen Prompt(s): All of 'em! :)

* * *

* * *

Something was screwed up inside.

It wasn't just the blood running down his side from the gash on his chest. There was something else. Something deeper.

Sam pressed his hand to the bleeding cut. Couldn't do anything about any of it right now. Had to get up. Had to help his brother with the second ghoul.

Gripping the stair railing, he got to his knees. For a moment, he had to pause and breathe very slowly and carefully. The tumble down the stairs had left him bruised, but that was the least of his issues.

Warm blood against his palm, he looked up the stairs. It was a long way back up, but the struggle was still going on upstairs and he wasn't leaving his brother to fight the other ghoul alone. Lightheaded, he unsteadily stood.

Putting one hand to the rail wasn't enough to get him up the stairs. It took both hands and the pulling did nothing to help the pain in his side. One step after another, he climbed toward his brother, leaving a trail of blood on the rail behind him.

A heavy thud to the left had him turning when he reached the landing. Dean was mouthing off. Taunting the ghoul.

By the time Sam walked into the room, Dean was standing above the dead creature, blood dripping off the edge of his knife. He turned with a grin that immediately faded when he locked eyes with Sam.

Seeing his brother alive and safe, the adrenaline bled out of Sam faster than the actual _blood_ was and he leaned back against the wall. Dean caught him as he slid to the floor and eased his descent.

Dean's hands were on him, pulling at his jacket, his shirts, finding the gash.

"You got it, right?" Dean asked, pressing a folded bandana against the wound.

Sam raised an eyebrow - the only response he had enough strength to give.

Dean rolled his eyes, but his tone was serious when he asked, "Where else are you hurt?"

Leaning his head back against the wall, Sam concentrated on not passing out.

"Sam? Where else. This cut isn't that bad." Dean's tone was edging toward desperate. "Sam? What else?"

"Inside." Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Damn it."

Dean was pulling him to his feet and Sam's vision greyed out.

"Don't you dare faint," Dean said, dragging him forward. "You're too heavy. And I don't care that it's muscle, so don't even say it."

Sam smiled, his head too heavy to hold up. He leaned more heavily on his brother as they made their way down the stairs.

Didn't matter how heavy he was. His brother would _always_ carry him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well for a short snippet i managed all three prompts lol!
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 11: PSYCH 101, Defiance, Struggling, Crying


	11. PSYCH 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Options: Defiance, Struggling, Crying
> 
> Chosen Prompt: Struggling
> 
> setting: anytime in the later seasons

* * *

"Stop struggling!"

" _You_ stop struggling," Dean shouted back despite how hard it was to speak, let alone shout. His ribs were probably just cracked, but they still hurt enough to nearly take his breath away. "Every time you move, the rope gets tighter on me."

"And what do you think it does to me when _you_ struggle?"

"Just...just stop for a second." Dean stopped his own struggling.

Sam stopped moving, too.

"We need to think this through. Logically."

"Logically?" Sam asked, his weight shifting slightly. " _You_ want to think logically _now_?"

Dean gritted his teeth. Alright, so maybe his plan hadn't been the best. Maybe it hadn't been very logical. But it had been the best he'd been able to come up with on the fly. Wasn't his fault there had been two Wendigos. Hadn't been his fault they were more intelligent than most of the things they hunted.

Basically, none of it was his fault.

But Sam was still yammering on about all the reasons _he_ thought their current predicament was Dean's fault. Even before this mess, they'd been arguing pretty much for a week straight so it wasn't really that much of a surprise that Sam was this annoyed with him.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Sam asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts.

The answer, of course, was a big fat no, but Dean wasn't about to admit that.

"Just lay it out for me one more time," Dean said, closing his eyes.

Sam shifted, his shoulder blade digging into Dean's back.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked, not struggling against the ropes.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Bruised. Tired. But fine. Want a hot shower and a hot meal."

Sam shifted again and said, "Sounds really good."

"Ok. So tell me again how we're gonna get out of this and dinner's on me."

"Just as long as dinner isn't _us."_ It sounded like he was smiling.

Dean smiled too, listening as Sam laid out the plan. He shifted a little, not pulling on the ropes, but settling a little more comfortably back to back with his brother. He listened to the whole plan before commenting on what a completely horrible and stupid plan it was.

Sam huffed in exasperation and said, "Well it's the best that I've got."

"So keep thinking."

"Keep thinking and sit around here waiting for them to come back and make us their two course dinner?"  
"No, keep thinking so we can figure out a _better_ plan and get out of here so _we_ can have a two course meal." Dean started working at the ropes again.

"When do we ever eat a two course meal? Stop struggling, you're making it worse."

"We had a two course meal last week. In Tulsa."

"You mean when you had a burger from the gas station mini-mart and then had _another_ burger at the bar an hour later?" Sam asked, incredulous. " _That_ two course meal?"

Dean shrugged. It had been a pretty great two course meal in his opinion. Of course, it wasn't the point and he'd never eat a meal again - let alone a two course one - if they didn't get out of this mess.

"We gonna do this or what?" he asked, gritting his teeth and staring at the rusty blade that was just a bit too far out of reach.

"Do it."

Dean wanted to do anything else, but they were out of options and running out of time.

So he shifted, stretching his leg out toward the knife. The ropes tightened. It wasn't so bad for him - the way they'd been tied together, the ropes were cutting off circulation to his hands and tightening around his chest - but if he didn't succeed, and _fast_ , he'd wind up strangling his own brother while trying to save him.

Sam was trying to help, pushing against Dean's back. It inched him a little closer to the

knife, but at the expense of Sam's ability to continue breathing. The ropes had been knotted around their necks in a way that ensured if they moved around too much, they'd wind up choking to death. If Sam had been closer to anything vaguely weapon-shaped, Dean would've shoved his brother in that direction and choked himself to death in the process if necessary. But the only thing they'd been able to find that stood a chance of getting them free was the knife sitting just out of reach but in tantalizing view.

So Dean tried to ignore the choked gasp from behind him as he stretched out for the knife.

The toe of his boot just grazed the handle of the old knife.

"Come on!" he shouted, stretching out further while knowing it was costing his brother precious oxygen.

A sudden shove from behind sent him a critical few inches forward and he got the heel of his boot against the knife.

"Got it," he said, dragging the knife back toward him. "I got it!"

The only response he got was that of his brother slumping heavily against him.

"Crap. Sam?" He shifted his shoulder, but still got no response.

Urgency renewed, he scrambled to push the knife close enough to his hand that he could actually use it. Without being able to see over his shoulder, there was no way to be sure if Sam was breathing or not. Which meant he had very little time to act.

His fingers were numb but they worked surprisingly well under extreme pressure and he managed to get his wrists free with only mild blood loss from inadvertent slices. Have to get a tetanus shot, probably, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Sam?" he called again as he fought to cut through the ropes around his chest and neck.

No answer and the moment the ropes released, there was a thud. Dean spun, his ankles still bound, to find his brother slumped to the stone floor, unmoving.

Dean cursed, twisting around and slicing through the ropes still constricting his brother's breathing. Once the rope around his neck released, Sam coughed and then gasped his way back to consciousness.

"Easy," Dean said, pulling his brother upright, adrenaline and relief leaving him nearly lightheaded.

Sam grabbed his arm as he sucked in irregular breaths and rubbed at his bruised neck.

Holding him up, Dean took a look around the cave. So far no hungry diners salivating for their flesh which was great since they were in a pretty vulnerable position at the moment.

"How're you doin' there?" Dean asked, once he'd completed his survey of their surroundings.

A thumbs up and another round of coughing were the answer.

"Ok, perfect, time to go."

He wrapped his arms around his brother and dragged them both to their feet. It took a second or three, but then Sam was steady enough to pull away. The coughing died down as he motioned to the far corner.

"Grenade..." A cough interrupted the word. "...launcher."

" _Finally!_ " Dean grinned as he hurried across the room for their gear.

They'd been in the middle of setting charges in the cave to take out the wendigo when the not-so-solitary creatures had returned. Now that they were officially off the menu, it was time to toast the beasts and go home. After slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he cradled the grenade launcher in his arms and turned around.

Sam was still on his feet, still sucking in painful breaths, but he gave another thumbs up and started moving toward the entrance, flare gun in his hand.

Dean easily took his place in the lead and they made it out of the cave without running into anything else. Once he'd found a semi-defensible place to stop, he dropped the bag of gear and turned to his brother.

"How bad?"

Sam waved a hand. "Not bad."

"You were choked out unconscious."

_By me._

The relief at their narrow escape was somewhat tempered by the realization he could've killed his brother trying to rescue him.

"Happened before." Sam shrugged. "It wasn't that long or that bad. Breathing fine."

After a round of coughing triggered, no doubt, by his insistence that he was fine, Sam shrugged sheepishly and said, "I'm fine."

"Uh huh. Well sit down on that rock and stay fine." Dean pushed his brother down. "We can come back and finish this tomorrow. You sure you're up for this?"

"All I gotta do…" Sam paused to take a slow breath. "...is watch you shoot that thing."

"Damn straight." Dean grinned. "Sit back, little brother, and watch a pro at work."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You can point and shoot. I'm so proud."

"Shut up and keep your eyes open for Mr. and Mrs. Wendigo."

It only took about an hour before the happy couple returned to their home. They were dragging a bear behind them.

"Guess you and I were gonna be the appetizers," Dean whispered as they disappeared into the cave.

He lined up for the shot then fired. A moment later, there was a tremendously satisfying explosion from within the cave. An explosion that then brought down a tumble of rocks to completely cover the entrance.

"Yes!" Dean pumped his fist. "Awesome!"

"That _was_ pretty awesome," Sam said, with a matching grin.

Dean hefted his favorite toy and asked, "Know what else is awesome?"

"A hot shower?"

"No. Well, yes. That too. But I was thinking about steak _._ "

"Shower first," Sam said, grabbing the weapons duffel. "Steak after."

"Deal."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, with a title like "Psych 101" I really didn't go that route, did I? :) That's ok, I have some other ones that are more in the "psych" vein. So many delightful prompts! I enjoyed how this one turned out and I hope you did too! It's fun writing seeing what develops as I write these. Pretty much not a single one winds up being the fic I started it to be lol. I surprise myself constantly haha!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 12: I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING, Broken Down, Broken Bones, Broken Trust


	12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Monday already? UGHHH. If i didn't have to work, these prompts would be ten chapters apiece every day lol. Well, we'll all just have to make do with what I've got given the annoying 40++ hrs a week I have to give up from writing to work for a living. :D
> 
> thx SO much for your continued support and kind, encouraging reviews and kudos! I can't tell you how much they mean to me! :)
> 
> prompt options: Broken Down, Broken Bones, Broken Trust
> 
> prompt chosen: Broken Bones
> 
> Setting: season seven after Bobby, Dean and Sam escape the Leviathans at the hospital and get to Rufus's cabin.

* * *

Dean stared up at the sky. It was uninspiringly grey. Not even a real grey. A washed out dismal grey. It wasn't raining, more dripping. A half-hearted grey and a half-hearted rain. The day sucked.

Pretty much everything sucked.

He shifted where he sat in the uncomfortable chair on the rickety porch of the rundown cabin. His broken leg was throbbing, but he didn't dare take another pain pill. Not yet. Not while he was "on duty".

Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at his brother for a moment before returning his gaze to the sky.

They'd been here three days so far and every single day had been as ugly and dismal as the next. It had to stop raining at some point. The sun had to eventually come out again. At least that's what he told himself, but the truth was, he honestly wouldn't be surprised if he never saw another sunny day.

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He needed sleep. Needed it bad, but sleep would have to wait. At least until Bobby got back with supplies. For now, he was on watch. He hadn't been able to stand another moment inside the stifling constraints of the cabin so he'd hobbled out to the porch to get some air.

The rain kept falling and his leg kept throbbing. Nothing was letting up. He pressed a hand to his thigh, not that it helped with the pain and lifted his tumbler of whiskey with his other hand. Draining it in one go, he closed his eyes.

And then they snapped back open and he automatically turned to look back into the cabin again.

Sam was right where he'd been for the past three days. On the uncomfortable bed looking like death warmed over. Each day had been a little better - if _anything_ could be considered better. He still was barely alert even at his best moments which were few. The head injury had left him with the worst migraine of his life.

Dean gripped the arm of the chair, the sharp edges cutting into his fingers.

They'd tried with the medications at first. And they'd helped a little with the pain. Not enough. Not nearly enough, but some. The problem was, the more drugged up he was the worse Sam struggled with the hallucinations. He'd finally refused to take anything, even a freakin' Tylenol.

So now he wasn't hallucinating but he was in too much pain to do anything more than breathe.

Dean started to lift the glass again, remembered it was empty and decided he'd had enough fresh air. Struggling to his feet, well _foot,_ he hobbled back inside. He was filling the glass with more whiskey when he heard a muffled version of his name.

"Sammy?" He set the glass down and slowly limped across the room.

A shaking hand lifted from the ragged blanket.

"Right here," Dean whispered, nearly collapsing into the chair next to the bed. He gently grabbed his brother's hand and pressed it back against the quilt. "What do you need?"

Sam swallowed, but didn't say anything. Might mean he needed a drink or might mean he was going to puke.

"Take your time." Dean resettled in the chair, wishing he'd brought his whiskey with him.

He was half asleep by the time Sam's hand twitched under his. Jolting awake, he bit back a groan as the movement jarred his leg.

"Hm? What?" He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. "Sammy?"

"Help."

The one word, barely a whisper, woke him up faster than a bucket of cold water over his head would have done. Leaning forward, he studied his brother, searching for whatever was wrong. Desperate to fix...everything.

"What do you need?" he asked, his hand tightening on his brother's.

"Don't…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"Don't what? Sam?"

Sam tilted his head, the tiniest movement creasing his face with pain. He didn't open his eyes, but whispered, "Don't let go."

"I won't." Dean squeezed his hand, feeling a weak return pressure. "Never."

He was rewarded with the briefest flicker of eye contact before Sam drifted back into unconsciousness.

Sighing, Dean made himself as comfortable as he could in the hard chair.

Come hell or high water, he wasn't moving from this spot or letting go of his brother until Sam told him he could.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 13: BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT, Delayed Drowning, Chemical Pneumonia, Oxygen Mask


	13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning! This one was a challenge for me. I've been dealing with noisy neighbors and sleep deprivation for awhile now and I kind of ran out of steam over the weekend. But I finally kicked this one into gear last night since I wasn't going to sleep anyway lol! I hope it's ok because I'm a little bleary as I reviewed it today lol. :)
> 
> it's a little sadder than most. set at a difficult time. hope it's an enjoyable whumpy read though.
> 
> prompt options: Delayed Drowning, Chemical Pneumonia, Oxygen Mask
> 
> prompt chosen: oxygen mask
> 
> Setting: After 4.16 "On the Head of a Pin"

* * *

Dean's breath clouded in the oxygen mask. In and out. One reassuring little puff of life after another.

The beep of the heart monitor was another reassurance, but none of it was enough. None of it was Dean awake and joking around and mouthing off and driving him absolutely crazy. Not that there had been a lot of that happening lately.

Sam closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.

Things had been falling apart for a long time between them. The latest fiasco - and Sam still wasn't sure where to place the majority of the blame - had very nearly killed Dean. He was healing; no thanks to the angels and their infuriating inability to help when most needed.

Pulling himself together a little, Sam straightened in the chair. A quick glance at the monitors revealed no change. No change was good. No change meant Dean was stable. Meant he would get better.

_Will he_?

Sam's hands clenched in fists against the arms of the chair.

_He came back from the dead and he hasn't been right since. Why would he get better now?_

The thoughts were traitorous and horrible, but they wouldn't stop.

_He wasn't right even before. Ever since Dad died. That's when he changed. That's when_ everything _changed._

Dad had died and taken part of Dean with him and Sam had been trying ever since to find the missing pieces and fix what had been broken.

_I've done a bang up job of that._

He pressed his knuckles into his eyes when they began to burn with tears. No, not tears. _Exhaustion_. He was exhausted, there was no denying it. Two days now sitting at Dean's bedside. Two days of worrying and cursing angels and demons and himself.

_And none of it is getting me anywhere._

Instead of sitting around doing nothing, he should be out trying to find Lilith. Sort out what the angels were really up to. He should be making a difference. Finding a way to prove to his brother that wasn't a complete screw up.

A monitor beeped and his head snapped up, seeking the anomaly.

Oxygen saturation still within normal limits. Pulse a bit faster than it had been. Blood pressure low, but better.

He studied his brother's face for any signs of returning awareness. It had only been a few hours ago that the medical staff had finally replaced the ventilator with a simple oxygen mask. Slow, slow progress. Dean had barely been conscious all day. Mostly out of it, he'd been groggy, in pain - physical and emotional - and completely miserable.

Wrecked.

That was the right term. He was wrecked. A broken down wreck. A mere shadow of the man he once had been. He wasn't the infallible, unshakable hero of their childhood. Dean had always been larger than life; stronger than any fear or nightmare or monster in the dark.

Not anymore.

It made Sam angry.

Angry enough he'd snapped at an angel. An _angel._ Angry enough he'd just barely held himself back from _punching_ an angel. The time for that might still come.

Anger was the easiest emotion.

Despair was the emotion he was trying to bury.

He couldn't afford the luxury of despair. Couldn't afford to be the scared little brother, waiting for his dad or Dean to make everything better. It was all on him now. He'd failed to save Dean from hell and it was his fault Dean was a shattered wreck.

_I have to fix this. Whatever it takes._

It wouldn't be the first night Sam had spent keeping vigil over his brother but it never got easier. He shifted in the seat. Uncomfortable. Tired. Cold. Hungry. All of it took a backseat when Dean stirred.

Just a slight movement of his fingers against the blanket. The tilt of his head against the pillow.

Sam held his breath.

A moment longer and Dean's eyes slid open. A slow blink. Another one and then their gazes locked.

"Hey." Sam found himself smiling with pure relief at the relative clarity he saw in his brother's eyes this time.

Silence was the only reply, but Dean didn't look away.

"Dean?" Reaching out, Sam put a hand against Dean's wrist, his smile fading. "How're you doing?"

Dean pulled his arm back. Closing his eyes, he turned his head away.

An ice cold wave swept over Sam.

"Go." Dean's voice was hoarse, muffled behind the mask.

"Dean?" Frowning, Sam leaned closer. "Do you need something?"

"I need you to go away." Each word was punctuated by a wheezing breath fogging up the mask.

Sam swallowed hard, his own breath stolen away by the sucker punch of his brother's words.

Rejection.

Dean didn't want him.

Anger tried its best to surface again, but it was drowned in a thousand unending waves of despair.

Unable to think of a single thing to say, Sam pushed himself to his feet and left the room without a backward glance. Standing in the hall just outside the door, he tried to pull himself together. From behind him, the steady beep of the monitors assured him his brother's heart was still beating. That he was still breathing.

At least one of them was.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sadder than usual, not a happy ending at all story. This was such a difficult time in the boys' lives and it just breaks my heart.
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 14: IS SOMETHING BURNING, Branding, Heat Exhaustion, Fire


	14. IS SOMETHING BURNING?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good morning! today's is a little less depressing than yesterday's prompt was. thanks for all the great reviews yesterday! It was a challenging little scene to write because I really wanted to convey the complexities of s4 esp after that horrible episode and what happened to Dean. :( I would love to enhance that little fic and get Dean's pov. Because he really wasn't rejecting Sam for the reasons Sam thought he was rejecting him...Dean didn't want anyone around him because he was feeling like a total failure. That was pretty much all of s4 lol. total lack of communication and comprehension between them (no thanks to angels/demons) while they both were just drowning and needing each other SO BADLY but unable to close that chasm between them. Ugh. my heart.
> 
> ok. enough of that. lol! Today's a new day and a new scenario of misery for our boys yay! lol!
> 
> prompt options: Branding, Heat Exhaustion, Fire
> 
> prompt chosen: heat exhaustion
> 
> setting: any season

* * *

Dean wiped his face with a semi-clean rag. The sun, once a comforting warmth, was now hot and relentless. He'd long ago stripped down to his t-shirt and it was soaked with sweat.

He dropped the rag on the bumper and leaned back over the engine. They'd been holed up in this crappy, hot, little town for an extra two days already because of the car. He was sick of it. Sick of the heat, sick of the boredom, sick of being idle. They'd wrapped up the case with a neat bow and should've been on to the next one by now, but instead he was struggling with a complicated car repair that they didn't have money to deal with. He was used to making do with what he had, but this repair was testing his abilities.

He straightened and a wave of dizziness swept over him. A hand against the car steadied him until the moment passed. Licking dry lips, he squinted against the bright sunlight and looked for the tool he needed. It took him a moment to find it. Turning back to the engine, he found himself wavering where he stood.

Wonderful.

Setting the wrench down, once again he put a hand against the car to hold himself up and pressed the other to his head. He'd had a headache for awhile, but it was beginning to become more than a minor distraction. Should probably take something for it. Should probably drink some water, too.

A cramp hit him like a shock wave and he curled forward, breathless with the pain. He tried to straighten but his strength seemed to have melted away and he hit his knees. His vision was blurry as he settled himself against the car and tried not to pass out. He hadn't been thinking clearly - _wasn't_ thinking clearly. How long had it been since he'd had any water? Earlier. Much earlier. He'd gotten distracted and fully engrossed in the repair.

His thoughts began swimming as his vision wavered.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and swallowed back a groan at another muscle cramp. His head was spinning and so was his stomach. This was turning into a very big problem.

He tried to read his watch but his vision was so bad he couldn't make anything out. Squeezing his eyes closed again, he tried to breathe slow and evenly. Tried to clear his mind. To remember. What time was Sam supposed to be back? Where had he gone? Nothing was making any sense.

"Dean?"

The voice was loud, too loud. And close. Very close. It brought Dean up from whatever darkness he'd been sinking into.

"Dean, look at me."

There were hands to go with the voice. Hands on his shoulder, his face. They seemed as desperate as the voice did. Dean felt obligated to reply, but surfacing from the dark was a lot harder than it should have been.

Ice cold fire licked at his skin and he sputtered and gasped.

"Open your eyes!"

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a demand.

Dean opened his eyes. Water was running down his face, but through the blur, he saw his brother.

"Thank you," Sam said, breathing out slowly like he'd been holding his breath for a long time. "Keep your eyes on me, ok?"

"Hmm." Dean managed to grunt something he hoped would satisfy his brother.

"You're in trouble here, man." Sam was pulling him up. "We have to get you cooled down. Right now."

"Wh's wrong?" His words slid into each other even as he slid back toward the ground.

Sam just yanked him up again and started dragging him...somewhere.

He tried to ask what was going on again, but the words refused to form. Too tired and dizzy to bother, he closed his eyes and fell into darkness.

* * *

Sam cursed as he dragged his brother through the motel room. Just as they crossed the threshold of the bathroom, Dean passed out. He nearly hit the floor, but Sam managed to lock his knees and prevent Dean from collapsing. It was a whole new level of challenge to get him into the shower, but since the alternative might be death, Sam made it happen.

Hours ago, he'd left Dean grumpily puttering with the car. Dean had encouraged - no, _forced_ \- him to go. He was having issues with the car repair and his frustration level had been escalating faster than the temperature outside. He had rather loudly declined Sam's assistance with the car. Not that he probably would have been much help anyway, but avoiding his brother's frustration-induced wrath had been the deciding factor.

So Sam had walked downtown where a large outdoor market had been set up. The local library and rare books store had booths and he'd picked up an armful of books he hoped would prove to be valuable to their line of work. He'd grabbed sandwiches for a late lunch on his way back.

And then he'd found his brother more or less passed out beside the car.

One hand braced against Dean's chest, Sam fumbled with the shower controls with his other. Cool water streamed out of the shower head, sending a shiver down his spine. Dean flinched as the water hit him.

"Dean?" Sam called, patting his brother's cheek.

His eyes flickered open.

"Hey, you with me?"

"Sam?"

"Yes." Sam shifted so that more of the water hit his brother.

Dean shivered violently, pressing back against the tile.

"When's the last time you had anything to drink?"

"Uh…" Dean's voice trailed off unhelpfully.

"Stay put, ok?"

Dean nodded, slumping into the corner of the shower.

Somewhat assured his brother wasn't going to fall over, Sam rushed out to the tiny refrigerator. Grabbing a bottle of water, he hurried back to the bathroom. Dean was where he'd left him.

"What were you thinking?" Sam muttered both to his brother and to himself as he twisted the cap off. He should have _known_ Dean would get too engrossed in the repair to pay attention to things like impending heat stroke.

Dean didn't answer, but did take a sip of water before lowering his head into his hands with a groan. He was almost completely soaked now and beginning to shiver. Sam reached over and adjusted the controls so the water was lukewarm instead of frigid.

"How was book club?" Dean asked, his head still in his hands.

Sam snorted. "Seriously? You're in the throes of near heat stroke and you ask that?"

"Throes." This time it was Dean snorting. He lifted his head slightly, amusement lighting his pale face. "What a grown up word. You must've bought a dictionary."

"Don't be stupid." Sam had dumped the books pretty fast when he'd found his brother. There was no way Dean could've seen the dictionary. "Well, any more stupid than you already were."

"Ha, you _did_ buy a dictionary. And I'm not stupid, I'm...focused."

"You're focused alright." Sam rolled his eyes. Thankful that the cool shower seemed to be doing the trick, he asked, "How're you feeling now?"

"Like an overheated radiator." Dean ran a hand through his wet hair. "And a bit like a drowned rat. I'm good. Go get me some dry clothes."

Sam studied him for a moment longer, then went to grab clothes. By the time he got back, Dean had pushed himself to an unsteady standing position, arm braced against the tile. He turned off the shower and shot Sam a glare.

"My boots are waterlogged, thanks."

"I wasn't going to waste time getting them off when you were passed out from the heat, you're welcome."

Dean rolled his eyes, then slowly pulled his t-shirt off. He motioned to the door. "Go away."

Sam eyed him, dubious of his ability to remain upright.

"I've got it. I'm alive, alert, and oh so enthusiastic. Go away."

"You fall and I am repeating those words to you all the way to the hospital," Sam said, pulling the door closed.

He dashed outside to retrieve the sandwiches and his stack of books. Dropping them all on the table, he was back at the bathroom door in under thirty seconds.

"Still alive, alert, and enthusiastic?" Sam asked through the door.

"Oh so enthusiastic."

He sounded anything but enthusiastic. Sam hovered by the door. A moment later, it opened.

"Sam," Dean said, one hand on the door jamb.

"What?"

"Where are the rest of my dry clothes?"

"In your bag." Sam shrugged, having expected Dean's annoyance at only having been given a t-shirt and boxers to change into. "You don't need them because the only place you're going is to bed and the only thing you're going to be doing is resting."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Well, it's a good thing what you think doesn't matter, isn't it?" Sam easily pushed his brother down onto his bed.

Dean stared up at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression.

Sam grinned and patted him on the shoulder. He stacked a couple pillows then pushed and shoved until Dean finally did what he wanted and settled on the bed. For someone who hadn't wanted to go to bed, his sigh sounded an awful lot like relief.

"I'm going to get you some Gatorade from the vending machine. If you move from that spot, I'll pick a random piece of the engine and remove it."

"Book club must've been fun," Dean mumbled, a hand over his eyes. "You're unusually mouthy."

"Just stay put."

Dean flicked his finger in a shooing motion.

Sam went headed for the vending machine. On his way back to the room, he took enough time to pack up all of Dean's tools and lock the car. Once inside, he turned up the air.

"You doin' ok?" he asked, opening the bottle of Gatorade.

"Peachy considering I'm in the throes of post-heat exhaustion." Dean pushed himself up a bit and accepted the bottle.

"Look at you, using grown up words that are more than four letters long."

Dean glared at him, setting the bottle on the bedside table before flopping back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and asked, "You pack up the tools?"

"I did."

"Thanks. For...all of it."

Sam smiled, tugging the sheet up over his brother. "You're welcome. For all of it. Get some rest, ok?"

Dean nodded, then mumbled, "Don't read the whole dictionary in one sitting. You need to read a comic book or something. Expand your horizons."

He drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

Sam smiled, relief filling him. He settled at the table to eat his lunch and read. He set the stack of comic books he'd bought for his brother right next to him. When Dean started to stir, Sam was going to make sure he had a comic book in his hand.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Special thanks to Sylvia37 for her assist on this one last nite! :)
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 15: INTO THE UNKNOWN, Possession, Magical Healing, Science Gone Wrong
> 
> lol tomorrow's theme/prompts sound like an episode of Star Trek.


	15. INTO THE UNKNOWN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! No, I didn't forget to post this morning lol. Thursdays are my late day to work so I had a bit more time to work on this one. Of course, now i'm going to seriously have to RUSH to get to work on time lol!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Possession, Magical Healing, Science Gone Wrong
> 
> prompt chosen: Magical Healing
> 
> setting: season 2

* * *

"This is _not_ good," Dean muttered, studying his brother's crumpled form.

Sam let out a harsh laugh that morphed into a gasp of pain.

"Take it easy."

"You take it easy," Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

"Alright, alright." Dean held his hands up, his attempt to soothe his brother failing spectacularly.

Wasn't like he'd really expected his ridiculously useless words to do anything to help. He ran his hand through his hair, desperation and anger coursing through him as he stared at his brother.

Sam was on the bed, literally curled around a bag of ice. He was burning up despite medications, cold showers, and ice packs. They'd tried everything. And nothing was making a bit of a difference.

This wasn't anything they'd ever dealt with before. A magic hex was something Dean didn't know how to fix with traditional methods and he'd already tried a lot of non-traditional ones, too. It had been almost a day and he'd gone through Dad's journal at least four times. Bobby had been going through every file and book and drawer and nook and cranny of his place, searching only to come up completely empty handed.

"I've gotta go back." Dean paced the room. "There _has_ to be something-"

"No." Sam shifted, lifting his head for a split second before flopping lifelessly back down against the soaked sheets. "We burned...everything."

"Maybe we missed something."

Sam did another half-laugh, half-gasp thing and said, "We don't miss things."

"Sometimes we do," Dean argued, but it was pointless.

Sam was right. They hadn't missed anything. They'd burned the witch's entire house to the ground. That should have been enough to destroy the hex or trap or whatever it had been that Sam had inadvertently stumbled into. Of course, they hadn't realized anything had been amiss until they'd been back at the motel about to go to dinner.

_Maybe we burned something we_ shouldn't _have._

"It's magic, right?" Sam mumbled, his words starting to slide together.

"Yes."

"So. Magic cure."

"We already knew that." Dean frowned at his brother. "The problem is I can't _find_ a magic cure."

Sam's grip on the ice pack was lessening, the tension in his body melting away like the ice cubes that surrounded him.

"Sam." Dean knelt down, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "Hey, talk to me."

But he didn't talk. He just closed his eyes and no amount of prompting or yelling brought him back around.

Dean cursed, checking his brother's pulse, then running his hands through his hair. Urgency battled frustration for domination and won. If he didn't do something _soon,_ Sam would die. He'd been in pain for hours and burning up with fever for even longer. He was plenty stubborn, but a human body could only take so much abuse.

"I'll be right back, ok?"

He put a fresh cloth, straight out of the bowl of ice water on the nightstand, over Sam's forehead, then made his decision. He could either stay where he was and watch his brother die or he could leave him in the hopes of finding a magic cure.

"You're not dyin' on my watch," he assured softly, squeezing Sam's shoulder before leaving the room.

The instant he stepped over the threshold, he consciously left the big brother behind and channeled his focus and energy into being the best damn hunter he'd ever been. There was a cure out there somewhere; he refused to believe otherwise. He just had to find it.

He'd sift through every last ash of that burned down house if necessary.

Behind the wheel of the car, he dialed Bobby's number.

"Bobby, you better have some answers," Dean growled into the phone after Bobby's answering machine picked up.

Dropping the phone on the seat next to him, he put the gas pedal to the floor.

* * *

An hour later, he was parking the car back in front of the motel room. He'd just barely started his fruitless search through the wreckage of the burned down house when Bobby had called with a shopping list of items to get and an order to go back to the motel as fast as he could.

"Are you sure?" he asked, shoving his door open. Bobby had been reviewing the instructions with him all the way back. "This is going to work?"

" _Of course I'm not sure,"_ Bobby snapped back. " _I'm not a freakin' witch!"_

Dean slammed his door. "But you're at least somewhat sure?"

" _I'm sure that at this point anything's worth a try if you want your brother to live through the night."_

"That is not helping."

" _Just get in there and do it. Call me after."_

The call ended and Dean cursed. He rushed to the motel room door, heart in his throat. He'd been gone for an hour. An _hour_ in which he'd had no contact whatsoever with his brother. An hour in which Sam could've died.

"Sam?" He shouted, as he threw the door open.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Sam," Dean said, sucking in a relieved breath.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, squinting up at him. "Where've you been?"

After locking the door behind him, Dean set the bag of supplies on the table. "Went back to the house. Didn't find anything, but Bobby thinks he has a solution. Maybe."

He reached his brother's side. Before even touching him, Dean felt the heat coming off his brother in waves. He hadn't expected anything to improve while he'd been gone, but it would've been a nice surprise.

"I'm going to need your help for this," Dean said, a hand on Sam's shoulder when he started to waver.

"With what?" Sam asked, his eyes barely open.

This was going to be a challenge to say the least.

"With the cure." Dean piled up the pillows. "Need you to sit up for a bit."

Sam slumped against the pillows without much prodding. It was a mystery how he'd even managed to sit up in the first place. Dean shoved the now completely depleted ice packs off the bed. The bedding was soaked and so was his brother. Not that the ice had done anything to lower the fever. They needed to fix this. Now.

"I have to get the stuff set up," Dean said, pushing Sam's wet hair back from his face and trying to hold his gaze. As relieved as he was that his brother was somewhat alert, success depended on them completing the spell before Sam was too far gone to try. "Stay awake, ok?"

"What...what do you have to do?" Sam frowned, his bleary gaze shifting between Dean and the table.

"Well." Dean took a deep breath. "It's not so much what I have to do as it is what you're gonna have to do."

"Me?" At the thought, Sam looked even more sick than he already had.

"You don't have to do anything too strenuous. Promise."

Sam gave him a wearily dubious raised eyebrow.

Dean grinned. "It's gonna be fine."

_Sure it is. Because he totally looks like he's up for what he's gonna have to do. Yep, this is gonna go great._

"Sit tight." Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder, then hurried over to the table. Unpacking the supplies, he said, "If this works, dinner's on me. Anything you want."

"And if it doesn't?" Sam asked, his voice softer and weaker.

Dean gritted his teeth, fumbling with the spices and paper cups. He swallowed down the fear and worry and said, "Then you're buying."

Sam just groaned.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean's heart sank at his brother's pained expression. Sam hadn't been able to put into words what exactly was hurting. Just that _everything_ was. The pain had come in waves, but the fever had been unrelenting.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean said, giving the cup of spice mix a quick shake.

After quadruple checking his hastily scribbled notes, he opened the bottle of wine. Wine wasn't their typical beverage of choice, but Bobby had insisted it had to be red wine or the spell wouldn't work. So he'd barrelled through the liquor store to the shelves he never frequented, grabbed the most expensive bottle of red wine and ran for the checkout.

"This better work," he muttered under his breath, pouring wine into the cup. Mixing in the last couple ingredients, he called out, "Still with me?"

Sam's harsh, rapid breathing was the only reply.

Finally, the concoction was finished. He grabbed the cup and his notes then rushed across the room. One look at his brother and Dean knew they had mere minutes to finish this.

"Ok, Sam, hey, look at me." He sat on the edge of the bed, cup and notes in one hand, while he tapped his brother's cheek with his other. "Hey, come on, stay with me. Need your help."

Sam blinked, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"You gotta read the spell," Dean said, trying to keep his tone calm while his heart rate was skyrocketing. _No time! No time!_ "Sam, I can't do it. It only works if you do it."

"What…"

"You have to read this." Dean shifted, holding the paper up for Sam to see.

Sam's eyes barely tracked his movement. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Can't."

"Yes you can."

"Can't...see it.."

A spike of sheer panic ran through Dean, but he refused to allow it to take hold. There was no alternative he would accept except complete success. He leaned closer, holding Sam's gaze.

"I'll read it to you," he said, forcing a smile. "Just like when you were learning to read, right? I'll read it and you can just repeat it."

It had to work, it just _had_ to! Bobby had been very specific that this only worked if the one who had been hexed read the spell. But nothing said they couldn't cheat the system a little, right?

Sam blinked slowly, then asked, "What're we...doing?"

"Magic," Dean said, struggling to hold onto his smile and his confidence. "Magic trick. You like magic. Just repeat everything I say, ok? Please, Sammy, you gotta do this."

Without waiting for his brother's response, Dean started reading the spell. The unfamiliar words - he didn't even remember what language Bobby had said they were - stumbled off his tongue. Word by word, he read through the spell. And word by painful, slow, miserable word, Sam repeated what he said.

Once the spell was finished, whatever had remained of Sam's strength had been completely depleted. He was as good as unconscious, his breathing gone shallow and slow.

"Come on," Dean said softly, lifting the cup of spiced wine to his brother's lips.

He gently tipped the liquid into Sam's mouth and held his breath until Sam roused a bit and actually swallowed the wine. Hope soaring at the positive signs, he continued to coax his brother to drink until the entire mixture was gone.

Setting the cup aside, he patted Sam's cheek. "Sammy? You with me?"

"Hmm." Sam's face tightened in a frown. It took another minute before he managed to get his eyes open.

"Hey." Dean smiled. "How're you doing?"

Sam lifted a shaking hand to rub at his forehead, then said, "Tired. Happened?"

"Don't worry about that right now, ok? Everything's fine."

_Everything's fine!_

"How's the pain?" he asked, thinking through next steps.

"Mmm." Sam shrugged, eyes slipping closed.

"I'll take that as a good sign." Dean pressed his fingers to his brother's wrist. Pulse steady, even. Skin no longer burning with fever. "We gotta get you out of these wet clothes."

Sam seemed perfectly content to just fall asleep where he sat, but that wasn't going to happen on Dean's watch. So they struggled through a challenging clothing and bed change. Sam was a little more awake by the time he was resettled in Dean's bed with warm, dry clothes.

"Here you go," Dean said, holding out the refilled paper cup. "Drink up."

Sam stared at the cup, then up at Dean. "What is that?"

"Wine."

"We have wine?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"We do tonight."

There was no point trying to explain everything to Sam right now. He was still pretty out of it. Not that he'd be anything _but_ out of it for the rest of the night. Dean cast a glance at the wine bottle on the table and couldn't help but smile. Bobby had said the only way to fully flush out the hex was with a lot of the spiced wine concoction. So as soon as Sam finished the cup, he refilled it. Sam drank it without question. When Dean filled it up a fifth time, though, Sam finally protested.

"Enough," he said, shaking his head. "What're you tryin' t'do t'me?"

Dean laughed at the slurred question. A day of fevered exhaustion coupled with half a bottle of wine and Sam was already drunk. He glared up at Dean when the laughter continued.

"Dean, you suck." It was a pure whine and it was the best thing Dean had heard all day.

"Ah, Sammy, you'll appreciate what I'm doing for you tomorrow, promise. Well, maybe not tomorrow. Tomorrow you're gonna be hungover and grumpy. But the _next_ day, you'll thank me."

"Won't either." Sam tried to set the cup on the nightstand, his uncoordinated motion nearly sending it straight to the floor.

Grabbing it before it could spill, Dean said, "You have to drink all of this, Sam. It's part of the magic cure."

Sam rolled his eyes. "No such thing as magic."

Dean thought of a mere hour ago when his brother had been dying in front of him. Now he was drunk and annoyed and _alive._ Smiling, Dean said, "Yeah, Sammy, there is."

"There is?" Sam asked in awe.

"There is." He nudged his brother's hand. "Keep drinking."

A few cups later and Sam was three sheets to the wind yet coherent enough (barely) to have come to the sudden realization that he wasn't in his bed.

"Dean!" he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. "Why're I inna your bed? 're you sud...sud...suducin' me?"

Having had a few beers of celebration and relief, Dean wasn't in the slightest drunk or even tipsy, but was relaxed and at ease. The fear from earlier was a fading memory and the current situation was nothing but hilarious. He grinned at his brother.

"If I was seducin' you, I'd have gotten you roses and an appletini or something like that because you're such a girl."

"Am not."

"We'd have candlelight and soft music and -"

"I hate you."

Dean laughed. "You're gonna hate me more tomorrow. Just remember, I saved your life."

"By gettin' m'wasted?" Sam motioned with the hand still holding the paper cup. Drops of wine flew everywhere.

"Shockingly, yes." Dean tilted the last of the wine into the cup.

Sam's eyes narrowed. He stared into the cup, then back up at Dean. "This…'s this _wine_?"

"Yes, it's wine."

"Wh's th' 'ccasion?"

"Our anniversary," Dean said, unable to help himself.

Sam looked at his watch for some inexplicable reason, then said, "I did't get y'nything."

Laughing, Dean patted his brother's shoulder. "You're all I've ever wanted."

Under different circumstances, it would've been the most chick-flick thing he'd ever said. Who was he kidding? Even under _these_ circumstances, it was the most chick-flick thing he'd ever said.

"You're too," Sam said, nodding and trying to pat Dean's arm. "You're too all 've ever wan'ned."

"Well, then there we go." Dean smiled, the situation ludicrous but touching nonetheless.

Sam returned his smile, then drained the last of the wine.

"Alright, Sammy, time for you to get some sleep," Dean said, setting the cup aside.

As Dean helped him get settled, Sam mumbled, "Th'nks D'n."

"You're welcome."

Sam was out almost instantly and, adrenaline of the day finally running low, Dean wasn't far behind. He flopped down on the other side of the bed, content in the knowledge that his brother was safe and alive next to him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This one turned out a lot funnier than I'd planned or expected. :) Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 16: A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY, Forced to Beg, Hallucinations, Shoot the Hostage


	16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Yay for Friday! I have my fingers crossed this weekend I will be able to wrap up a few more prompts. I've got most of them started, but not all. So I definitely have to keep focused!
> 
> Thank you all for reading these chapters and for all the kind words and kudos! I wish I had more hours in the day to spend responding to each and every one of you personally, but unfortunately, I have to work lol. I tell ya, that job just gets in the way of everything. :)
> 
> Since I'm not independently wealthy, I shall continue drudging away at work to pay for my internet so I can post my stories, while squeezing my writing time in anywhere I can. ;)
> 
> Again, very sincere thanks for taking the time to read!
> 
> prompt options: Forced to Beg, Hallucinations, Shoot the Hostage
> 
> prompts() chosen: Hallucinations, Shoot the Hostage
> 
> Setting: season 7

* * *

Oh this was bad.

_Bad._

Considering their whole lives, it wasn't even close to being the _worst_ bad thing that had ever happened to them.

But right now, it kind of felt like it.

Dean stared at his brother, fear and anger coursing through him.

"I'm telling you the truth, Sam," Dean said, trying to keep his voice even. Trying to keep his brother calm.

"No, he's not," the wraith said, standing at Sam's side. "Trust your instincts."

There was nothing wrong with Sam's instincts, of course. But his grip on reality? _That_ was a very big problem. Things had been getting worse and worse. Every day, Dean had seen the signs of his brother slipping deeper and deeper into the hallucinations. It wasn't an occasional moment of confusion or doubt. Now it was every single day, far too many times every day.

And, of course, today they'd run afoul of a wraith. Today, when they hadn't even been _looking_ for a case. Today, when Sam had been lost in his head more than he'd been lucid.

"Sam, look at me!" Dean shouted, hoping to achieve a brief instant of eye contact.

But Sam was far too distracted to pay any attention to him.

Between the wraith holding him hostage - something Sam didn't even seem aware of - and the obviously constant berating of the hallucinations in his mind, Sam did have a lot on his plate. Whatever the devil was telling him, Sam all too clearly was listening. And it was all playing straight into the wraith's hands.

"Just come with me," the wraith said, its soft, gently cajoling voice a complete antithesis of its maliciously delighted expression. It knew it was winning.

Sam was wavering and there wasn't much Dean could do considering the wraith had its hand on his brother. Dean's own hand was itching to pull the trigger on his gun, but the wraith was too close. All it had to do was extend its spike and Sam would be dead before the wraith would be.

The monster probably felt like it had won the lottery. Sam hadn't fought it at all. Had just gone to it when it had called to him and was now standing there, a completely helpless victim.

The wraith inched closer, knowing it had the full advantage. Sam glanced at it, then at something to his left which had him flinching and moving closer to the wraith.

"This has been the easiest day of my life," the wraith grinned, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, that threatening hand resting on his neck.

"Get the hell away from my brother."

"Oh, I don't think so. He _reeks_ of fear. Do you have any idea how delicious-"

"Shut up," Dean snapped, patience running low as his desperation escalated.

The wraith's grin widened.

Dean caught his brother's eye, but there was no recognition staring back at him. Just complete confusion and fear. There was no point trying to reason with Sam now. The wraith had the complete advantage and he knew it.

"Come," the wraith said softly. It took a step backward, its hand lowering slightly.

It was cautious to stay pressed very closely to Sam, protecting itself from becoming an easy target, as it pulled him along. There was no clear shot for Dean to take, even if the immediate danger of the spike had lessened. If he tried to hit the wraith, all he'd wind up doing would be shooting his brother in the head.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. It was horrible and he hated himself for considering it, but there weren't any other options. The element of surprise was all he needed.

So he lifted his gun and shot his brother.

Sam cried out in shock, crumpling forward.

The wraith was caught off guard, its expression going from smug to bewildered. It reached forward to grab at Sam as he fell to the ground, but Dean fired his gun again without any hesitation whatsoever this time. He emptied the clip into the wraith's face. Wasn't silver bullets, but complete cranial-destruction would work in a pinch.

Before the creature had even hit the ground, Dean was on his knees next to his brother.

"Sammy?" he asked, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other pressing down on the bleeding leg wound. "You ok?"

"I'm bleeding."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." Dean had aimed carefully; just a flesh wound, but it had been enough.

"You shot me?" Sam raised an eyebrow, cringing as Dean applied more pressure. The pain grounded him and brought him back to reality. "What..what's going on?"

"Had a situation."

"And you had to shoot me?"

He sounded so completely normal. So coherent. Like he hadn't just been hallucinating who knew what while about to willingly go with a wraith.

"Sorry. Didn't have a lot of options." Dean shook his head, his smile a bit shaky. "Let's get back to the motel and I'll get you fixed up"

Sam accepted his hand and struggled upright, flinching in pain as he put weight on his leg. He flinched again when he caught sight of the mangled remains of the wraith.

"Dean?"

"I'll catch you up on the way," Dean said, slinging his brother's arm over his shoulder.

Sam leaned more heavily on him and limped forward.

Dean gritted his teeth and led them back to the Impala.

It may have turned out ok, but that didn't mean the situation still wasn't _bad._ He'd had to hurt his brother to save him. The pain in his leg was keeping Sam focused on the here and now, but that wasn't a long-term solution.

They were both exhausted. Neither sleeping. Between dodging Leviathans and trying to cope with Sam's invisible tormentor, it had been a difficult few weeks. Today's experience just was more proof.

They were running out of time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 17: I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING, Blackmail, Dirty Secret, Wrongfully Accused


	17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I would've had this posted earlier except that I completely changed which prompt I was doing and wrote a completely brand new scene today. :)
> 
> prompts: Blackmail, Dirty Secret, Wrongfully Accused
> 
> prompt chosen: Wrongfully Accused
> 
> setting: pre-series, Dean 14, Sam 10

* * *

"You little brat." The motel manager loomed over them, tobacco stained finger jabbing at Dean's chest. "You broke that window."

"They did," Dean said, pointing at the older boys who were running away across the parking lot. "Not us."

The manager didn't even look. He just took a step closer. "You two been here alone for days. Don't think I don't notice. Couple hooligans, trashing things."

"We didn't trash anything." Dean stood up as straight and tall as he could. He was only fourteen and the guy was huge, but at least he wasn't a little kid anymore. He could protect his brother. "We were just walking by and they threw the rocks before we even got here."

"That ain't what I saw. _You_ threw those rocks."

"He did not!"

"Sammy, be quiet," Dean said under his breath, gripping his brother's backpack strap, keeping him in place.

"But-"

"It doesn't matter who did it," the manager said, staring down at them. "What matters is that you're going to pay for it."

"Fine." Dean shrugged. "When my dad gets back he'll-"

The guy laughed, but it was a mean laugh. He leaned closer and said, "I'm not interested in waiting that long for payment."

Unsettled, Dean pushed Sam backwards, away from the man. Pulling out his wallet, he said, "I've got...fifty three dollars."

It was supposed to last them the rest of the week until Dad got back, but what else could he do?

The manager laughed again, shaking his head. "Fifty three dollars. That won't pay for the window."

"Dad will give you more," Dean said, holding the money out. Sam was behind him, his hand clenched around Dean's wrist.

"There's other ways to pay." The manager reached out, touching Dean's shoulder.

Flinching back, Dean shook his head.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was a tiny whisper behind him.

"It's ok, Sammy."

"Yes," the man said, his grin widening. He licked his lips, gaze going between Dean and his little brother. "It's ok, Sammy."

"Don't call him that," Dean snapped even though everything inside him was shaking. "You can have the money and get more from Dad when he gets back."

The man shook his head. "I already told you that I don't want your money. You don't have any options here, boy. Your daddy ain't here and I think the police would be really interested in a couple kids who live at a motel while there daddy's who knows where. They'd probably come right over if I called. They'll put you two in foster homes so fast it would make your head spin."

"Dean?"

Sam sounded close to tears, but Dean didn't take his eyes off the monster in front of him. His wrist was being squeezed tightly, fingernails digging into his skin as Sam pulled on him.

If the man did call the police, Dean knew he was right about what would happen to them. He also wasn't stupid; he knew what the man wanted. The money wasn't enough and Dean had nothing else he could bargain with. He and the man stared at each other, both weighing the options and possible outcomes of the situation.

And then the man leaned down and whispered into Dean's ear, "If you don't want to pay me for what you did, perhaps your little brother would."

Dean tore his wrist out of Sam's grip, heedless of the scratches he received in the process. He launched himself forward, shoulder catching the man in the solar plexus and driving the breath out of him. The guy was startled, but he was a big guy and recovered quickly. His hands came up to grab or punch, but Dean paid no attention and drove his own fist into the man's already crooked nose.

Blood spurted all over and somewhere in the background, Sammy was yelling and crying and Dean just ignored him and pounded his fist into the man's face over and over again. The world was filmed in a red haze as he poured out his terror and anger against the all-too-human monster who had threatened him and his brother.

Finally, the sounds of his brother's voice broke through everything else.

"...please, stop. Dean...please…"

Dean straightened. He was on his knees over the now unconscious manager, both his fists dripping with blood, his arms and shoulders aching with how hard he'd been punching.

"Dean, please…" Sam's voice broke off with a sob.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, turning away from the monster.

Sam was standing a few feet away, tears streaming down his face, a tree branch held in his hands. Scared to death, but prepared to fight. He looked so little standing there in Dean's old jacket, his backpack full of school books and his dirty sneakers right in the middle of a mud puddle with a tree branch held in his hands like a club.

"Dean?"

"It's ok." Dean pushed himself up, his breath slowing. He found himself with an armful of little brother. "It's ok, Sammy."

Sam was shaking his head against Dean's chest.

Running his hands through his brother's hair, Dean looked once more at the monster, then said, "Come on. We need to go."

He pulled his brother toward their room. It only took them five minutes to grab what few possessions they had that weren't already in their backpacks. Dean listened for sirens as they packed, but none came. They'd been at the side of the motel when the manager had approached them. Maybe no one had seen what had happened.

Gripping Sam's hand with an iron grasp, Dean led him up the street. Toward the bus stop.

"What're we doing?" Sam asked, wiping his face with his sleeve and struggling to keep up with Dean's hasty steps.

"We're going far from here."

"But Dad…"

"We'll call him from Pastor Jim's," Dean said, refusing to look over his shoulder. No good looking back. Had to keep moving forward.

"Are the police going to take us away?"

Dean pulled his brother closer to him, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. Holding him tight, Dean said, "No."

"I don't want to get taken away from you." Sam's arms wrapped around him.

"Not gonna happen, squirt." Dean kissed the top of his brother's head as they reached the bus stop. "Nothin's _ever_ gonna take you away from me."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The bus arrived only moments later and by the time they were sitting down, Sam was finally smiling. Dean forced a smile, grateful when Sam started talking about what he'd learned in school. Little kids were so easily distracted. All Dean could hope was that the memory of what had happened...what had _nearly_ happened would fade away quickly and Sam would forget this day completely.

He knew he wouldn't be so lucky.

The bus was taking them far away, Sam was safe beside him, the monster was left behind. They were safe. He was safe.

_Until next time_.

A shiver ran up his spine.

There would always be monsters in the world.

All he could do was learn everything he could. Be smarter. Be faster. Tougher. He needed to be the best at everything so that he could protect his brother and himself.

He would _never_ let anything happen to his brother.

Never.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This definitely was a very different story than I had ever expected or planned to write, but I think it turned out pretty well. :) I have to admit that overall, every single prompt has gone completely differently than what i had "sketched" out in preparation for this event lol. Considering the title of today's installment was "I did not see that coming" it seems very appropriate lol.
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 18: PANIC! AT THE DISCO, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Paranoia


	18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Evening! well it took all day, but I still made it! This one is another one that changed from what I'd originally had. This one went through about four different "versions"/possibilities before this finally coalesced. Another huge thx to Sylvia37 for her help brainstorming with me and giving me some ideas that morphed into this story. :) Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> prompts: Panic Attacks, Phobias, Paranoia
> 
> chosen prompt(s): Panic Attacks and (vaguely) Paranoia
> 
> Setting: s14 after Michael was gone for good

* * *

Dean sucked in deep, uneven breaths, his pulse pounding in his chest. The carpet was rough under his hands, grounding him. The gritty fibers were the first sensation that filtered through the sheer, agonizing panic that had sent him to his knees in the first place. He concentrated on the carpet against his skin, letting it remind him that he was in a shabby motel not a five star hotel.

_This is real. This is now. I'm me. I'm_ only _me._

He shifted, half falling backwards against the bed he'd not even had the opportunity to attempt to sleep in. Not that it seemed likely he'd be sleeping anytime soon. All he'd done was sit down on the edge of the bed and close his eyes for a split second. Just to rest his eyes. Rest his eyes and then he'd seen - _remembered -_ things.

Remembered things he had done. People he'd hurt. People he'd _killed._

A fresh chill ran down his spine and he pressed his hands to his face, trying without success to block out the visions his brain refused to let him forget.

He'd been here before; more than once. Too many times, in fact. Covered in someone else's blood, even if he wasn't _literally_ wearing someone else's blood right now.

The chill down his spine turned into a full body tremor. He couldn't stop the shaking and waves of warmth swept over him. Lightheaded, he pressed a hand against his chest. The air seemed thick, his breaths strained.

He jerked at the feeling of hands on his shoulders.

"Easy," Sam said, his grip strong, another point of grounding in the midst of a maelstrom of confusion and fear. "Just me. Take a deep breath."

Dean tried. He legitimately tried. But the panic had frayed his last sense of control.

"Hey, look at me." Sam's voice was a bit louder, just enough to break through the panic.

"Sam." Dean met his brother's concerned gaze.

"Right here."

The reality of the situation hit him like a punch. He was freaking out, falling apart in the middle of the day for absolutely no good reason. It was embarrassing. Pathetic.

"Sorry." He pulled back from his brother. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Dean," Sam said softly, allowing Dean to move away.

The remnants of his panic attack still clinging to him like a bad taste, Dean sat on the edge of the bed - where everything had started in the first place. He ran a hand over his face, struggling to meet his brother's all too knowing gaze. Moments like this, he was as good as flayed open. Exposed and vulnerable. He hated it, but the truth was there wasn't anyone who could read him like his brother could.

Sam sat on the other bed across from him. For a few moments, they were silent. The faint scent of barbecue wafted through the room. Sam had gone to grab lunch, that's right. He'd been gone less than twenty minutes and Dean had managed to have a full on panic attack in that time.

"Dean?"

"I'm ok, Sam." Dean slammed the lid on the box of his embarrassing emotional loss of control. Pushing himself to his feet, he rubbed his hands like he was actually still looking forward to barbecue. He couldn't control the trembling, but hid it by rifling through the bags with false enthusiasm. "Lunch?"

"It's ok not to be ok," Sam said, his voice barely audible.

Dean stared into the bag of food, his stomach twisting.

"It gets better."

"What does?" Dean asked, going for obliviousness as he dug out barbecue sandwiches that didn't remotely tempt him.

"The panic attacks. The paranoia. The way it feels like there's something inside you, clawing at you, poisoning you, fighting to get free. The way you don't even know if you...if you're still even you."

"Stop." The sandwich fell from Dean's hands. He wrapped his fingers around the back of the chair. "Just...don't."

"Dean, we never talk about this stuff-"

"For good reason," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam sighed, then said, "This is the fourth time in a week, Dean. You're not ok."

Dean tightened his hands on the chair, knuckles whitening.

"I'm just saying...that I understand, ok? I understand and if you need to talk about it-"

"I don't."

"I'll listen," Sam finished.

The way he sounded - tired, concerned, _understanding_ \- was like a knife through Dean's heart. Sam would listen because Sam understood. He understood because he'd gone through possession - more than once. He understood, because he'd suffered from the same horrors that were keeping Dean up at night and haunting him every moment of every single day.

"How… how long did it take?" Dean struggled to find the words.

"How long did what take?"

"How long till the...till you didn't...till it all stopped?"

Sam was silent for a long time, then he said, "It didn't."

Dean looked up, frowning. Sam was staring at the floor, his hands clasped tightly as he rested his elbows on his knees. Expression haunted, posture tense.

"I said it gets better," Sam said, not looking up. "I didn't say you ever completely get over it."

Taking a deep breath, Dean slumped into the chair and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "You don't need to be sorry. That's not what this is about."

"Sam…"

Dean's voice trailed off. So many things he needed to say. Things he should have _already_ said. Things he still couldn't say. Story of their lives.

As was shared trauma.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not really hungry," Sam said, straightening.

"Neither am I."

"You wanna go get drunk?"

Dean laughed, surprised at the suggestion.

Sam was trying out a smile, but it looked uncertain.

"I don't wanna get drunk," Dean said, crossing the room and holding out a hand to pull his brother to his feet.

"You don't?" Sam accepted his hand and stood up, a curious expression on his face.

"Well, yeah. I do. But I don't. Not right now."

"Ok...so what're we going to do, then?"

Dean tried out another deep breath and this time, his lungs seemed to finally expand. Seemed that the air was sweet and unclogged with fear. The shakiness was gone. The horrors that haunted them both might never cease to lurk in the corners of their minds, but that didn't mean they couldn't -

"Live, Sam," Dean said, tossing his brother his jacket and opening the door to a bright, sunny afternoon. "We're going to live."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This turned out very different than I'd ever expected but I love how it turned out. :) I don't know for sure if I'll be posting tomorrow morning or tomorrow evening, but I'm determined to post every day, so something will be posted...at some point lol.
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 19: BROKEN HEARTS, Grief, Mourning Loved One, Survivor's Guilt
> 
> ooooh SO MUCH POSSIBILITY FOR WINCHESTER ANGST!


	19. BROKEN HEARTS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Am just BARELY getting this posted...i am going to be scrambling to get to work on time. There were SO many great ways this theme/prompts could've gone. Really love how this turned out tho (COMPLETELY not like anything i'd originally planned lol). Hope you enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Grief, Mourning Loved One, Survivor's Guilt
> 
> prompt chosen: Survivor's Guilt
> 
> setting: s2

The thud of something hitting the floor in the bathroom brought Sam out of the half-doze he'd fallen into. Blinking heavy eyes, he focused his attention on the sounds from the bathroom. Dean was muttering not quite under his breath. The shower was running. Must have dropped something. Shampoo or soap maybe.

Sam closed his eyes again.

A truck rattled by outside, loud with the window open. The AC didn't work in this crappy room. Hadn't been a problem at first, but an unexpected heatwave had hit the area and now it was a problem. There was a slight breeze drifting through the window and Dean had actually gone out and bought a small fan to try to help.

The fan was oscillating on the desk to the right of the bed. Every time it turned his way, it made Sam shiver, but when it turned away, he choked with the pressing heat. Only the sheet was over him and it was too thin and too heavy all at once.

He shifted, not sure if he was trying to avoid the fan or catch more of its cooled air. A stab of pain through his head left him biting back a groan. Moving. Bad plan. A wave of nausea swept over him.

The pain made the room fade a little bit, but then something else got brighter.

The faces of the three people they hadn't been able to save flashed through his mind. Three innocent people. Wrong place wrong time. Caught by a vicious monster straight from their worst nightmares. Two of the victims had been taken a few weeks ago which was what had brought him and Dean to town in the first place. The other had been taken the day after he had been.

He'd watched all three of them die.

There'd really been no hope for the first victim; she'd been dying by the time Sam had regained consciousness. Tied up in a basement straight out of a cheesy horror flick, he'd watched her die while trying to sort out what the hell had happened. Blood all over his face, a raging headache, he'd been helpless to do anything.

For any of them.

The fan's cool air drifted over him and he shivered, fumbling with numb fingers, trying to pull the sheet more tightly around him. Every little movement was a fresh bolt of pain in his head. If he kept moving, he was going to start throwing up again. It was like being in the basement again. Trapped. Unable to move.

He'd seen people die before. Innocent people. Not so innocent people. It wasn't the first time he'd felt helpless. Wasn't the first time they'd been too late to save everyone.

Despite the agonizing headache, for the past two days he'd relived the twelve hours he'd spent tied up in that basement. Tearing each minute apart. Assessing everything he'd done or not done. Trying to study it all with cold, impassive analysis. Logically, he knew they'd done their best. Illogically, he blamed himself.

The bathroom door opened.

A moment later, he sensed movement at the side of the bed. Dean had put one of the chairs next to the bed and he always sat there rather than on the edge of the bed. The sensation of the bed dipping had been enough to start up fresh waves of nausea and vomiting the first day and Dean hadn't done it since.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was soft. So soft. "Just checking."

He tended to keep his words to a minimum. The less conversation, the less noise, the less _everything_ the better.

Sam didn't respond. No need. Dean knew he was awake. So he kept his eyes closed, tried not to throw up, and let Dean work.

His voice soft, his hands gentle, Dean had been incredible the past two days. It had been a long time since either of them had the misfortune of receiving such a severe head injury. They were both well versed in dealing with them, though, and Dean had done everything in his power to make Sam as comfortable as he could. They'd considered moving to a different motel because of the heat, but the mere thought of being in a moving car had triggered a harsh bout of vomiting. So Dean had done what he could to make the room a bit more comfortable.

Sam flinched a little as Dean carefully unwrapped the bandages around his wrists.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, gentling his touch even more.

The pain from his torn up wrists was a good pain. It was pain that proved he'd _tried._ Tried to get free. Tried to defend the others. Tried to save them.

"Hey." A brush of Dean's fingers over his cheek. "That bad?"

Another tear ran down his face despite his tightly closed eyes. He'd tried but he'd failed and three people had died and he was still alive and why, why, _why_ was he still alive?

"Sam." Dean sighed heavily, brushing away more tears.

He knew, of course he knew, that this wasn't about the physical pain.

"You gotta stop this," Dean said, returning to rebandaging Sam's wrists. "You did everything you could. _We_ did everything we could. We can't save everyone, but we _do_ save a lot of people."

They hadn't saved anyone this time. Anyone but themselves.

"We were too late for those people, but we saved a lot of people in the future. People that monster would've taken. Would've killed if we hadn't taken him out."

Dean's fingers touched his hair. Sam wanted to beg him not to redo the bandage on his head. There was no way he could tolerate that right now. But Dean didn't touch the bandage. Just featherlight rested his hand on the other side of his head.

"Sammy, you're worrying me here, man."

He'd suggested the hospital a couple times, but Sam had refused. Couldn't afford to have questions asked about the bruises and torn skin on his wrists. If it hadn't been for that, he might have agreed just for the remote possibility of decent painkillers. He'd taken a quick glance in the mirror yesterday when Dean had helped him to the bathroom. Dried blood still in his hair, black bruising all down the side of his face, dark circles under his eyes, and skin so pale he looked as dead as the people they'd left behind in that basement. No wonder Dean was worried.

"It wasn't your fault," Dean said, his hand not moving. "It was _not_ your fault. I need you to get that through your cracked head. And you need to get better, ok? Because there's a lot of people out there who need us. Who need _you._ So we need to get back out there, saving people that still need saving."

He was right. Of course he was right. And someday the guilt from what had happened two days ago would fade. Fade, but never disappear.

Because every single person he'd failed to save would haunt Sam to his dying day.

But he wasn't dying today. And his brother was worried. And Sam really wanted to get away from this hot little town filled with nightmares.

So he fumbled blindly until his fingers touched his brother's wrist. He gave a little squeeze and heard Dean's shaky exhalation. Relief.

"Ok, Sammy." Dean's voice sounded shaky, too. "Let's get you better."

For the sake of everyone out there who still needed saving, Sam would just have to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! this is one that I for SURE want to write the rest of the story to!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 20: TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE, Lost, Field Medicine, Medieval


	20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt options: Lost, Field Medicine, Medieval
> 
> prompt chosen: Lost
> 
> Setting: preseries

* * *

"I told you to turn left."

Dean glared at his brother.

"Well, I _did_ ," Sam insisted.

"Are you five?" Dean shook his head, throwing the duffel at his brother. "Hold that. I gotta take a leak."

"Make sure you don't get lost on the way."

Dean didn't even look over his shoulder, just gave his brother the finger as he made his way to the treeline.

Lost.

He scoffed. He wasn't lost. Maybe Sam was lost, but _he_ knew where they were. Of course he did. Exactly where they were.

_Yeah right._

He stared at the expanse of forest down the hill before him. Trees all looked the same. But these were very definitely new trees. Not trees they'd walked by a hundred times already. They migh not be going in the right direction, but they weren't walking in circles. He wasn't _stupid._

The sun was starting to go down and there was a hint of a chill in the air now. Just super. It was going to be night and it was getting cold and they were in the middle of freakin' nowhere and they were 100% lost.

This was _not_ going to go over well with Dad. At all.

Dean sighed, zipping up and turning around, ready to put on his best expression of careless bravado and BS his way past his brother's whiney protestations that they were lost.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Sam asked in a small voice.

He was standing there, the duffel bag in his arms nearly as big as he was and a hint of fear in his eyes. It wasn't whining now, it was legitimate fear. The great outdoors could seem awfully huge to a twelve year old. It had been a long time, but Dean still remembered feeling that way when he'd been out in the woods on his first few hunts with Dad.

"We're not lost, Sammy," Dean said with a grin. He strode over and grabbed the duffle bag. "Now, hop to it because I'm not going to wait around all night for you and your nature-hike lollygagging. I want pizza for dinner so we're going to need to be back at the car in less than an hour."

Sam's eyes widened and Dean had to mentally pat himself on the back.

"I don't lollygag," Sam said, and this time it was whining which was actually better than the fear. He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping stride with Dean.

"You dilly dally." Dean grinned, mussing his brother's hair.

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do _not!"_ Sam elbowed him, then dodged away before Dean could return the favor.

Laughing, Dean said, "Whatever, shorty."

"I'm not short!" This time the elbow was even more vicious, but Sam still dodged before Dean could get him back.

Which was fine, honestly. Because the important thing was that Sam was annoyed instead of scared and they were moving (hopefully in the right direction).

Dean could practically smell the pepperoni.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's shorter than usual. But it felt more or less complete for a little scene. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 21: I DON'T FEEL SO WELL, Chronic Pain, Hypothermia, Infection


	21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning! Here's another prompt that I already had a 1/2 page written to and then this morning decided to completely scrap and write something different lol. I hope you'll enjoy...this is my first "continuation" from a previous prompt! Yay! It's probably a bit rough since I just wrote it and didn't take the time to polish like I try to do lol. Hopefully it's still a good read :)
> 
> prompt options: Chronic Pain, Hypothermia, Infection
> 
> prompt chosen: Infection
> 
> setting: preseries. Dean 17, Sam 13. This is a continuation from Day Six prompt "No. 6: PLEASE...". Sam had been injured in a warehouse with a piece of rebar in his leg that Dean had been trying to secure. They were on their way to the Impala and the hospital where we last left them... this prompt picks things up about 3 days later...

* * *

"I wanna go home."

Sam's soft words drew Dean's attention back from the movie he'd been laughing about to reality.

Reality sucked.

"I know you do," Dean said, elbow on the edge of the bed as he patted his little brother's cold, clammy hand.

Never mind they didn't even have a home to go home to, Sam was too sick to go anywhere.

Reality _really_ sucked.

"Hey, this is the best part." Dean pointed at the tv.

It was the best part of the movie, but it wasn't enough to distract either of them or make Sam feel any better. Sam glanced vaguely in the direction of the tv, but his eyes were so bleary, so glazed, so dulled with pain and fever, it was doubtful he was seeing much of anything. Skin flushed with burning fever, he looked back at Dean.

"Wanna go," he whispered, voice breaking.

The stabbing pain that went through Dean's heart couldn't possibly have hurt less than the stabbing length of rebar that had skewered Sam's left leg back in that warehouse.

"Sammy, we'll go soon, ok?" His own voice broke a little.

Reality sucked; they weren't going anywhere for a long time.

Sam didn't answer, his eyes drifting closed like they all too often did. One lone tear escaped.

Sighing, Dean wiped the tear away from the overheated cheek.

Three days already they'd been in the hospital. Three days and things had only gotten worse. Carrying his little brother out of that warehouse with a piece of steel sticking out of his leg had been agonizing. He'd driven like a madman to get to the hospital, Sam unconscious on the seat next to him. Once at the hospital, pure relief had flooded him. The hospital would take care of things and patch Sam back together and it would be another nightmare to wake up to in the future, but Sam would be fine.

Reality sucked because Sam wasn't fine.

"How's he doing?" a soft voice asked.

Dean glanced up at the evening nurse, Ashley. He took a shaky breath and said, "Not great."

Ashley nodded, eyes filled with sympathy. She stood at the opposite side of the bed, a quick, professional glance over all the monitors and her patient.

Renewed fear pulsed through Dean and he tightened a hand around Sam's wrist as he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm just here for my routine check, Dean," she said with a small smile. "Everything looks stable."

"But he's not getting better."

"He's not getting better _quickly_ , but he is getting better."

Heart finding renewed cause to beat, Dean asked, "He is?"

"Yes. The last lab tests were reassuring and his vital signs are stabilizing." She was entering numbers into the computer as she talked. "It is going to take time, though. The infection is severe and with the blood loss on top, he's very weak. But the antibiotics are starting to make a difference."

Dean looked from her down at his brother and didn't think anything was making a difference.

It was difficult to believe that three and a half days ago, Sam had been talking his ear off about the book he'd read, the history of the town they were driving through, the details of the hunt. Three and a half days ago, he'd had boundless energy, a huge smile when they stopped for ice cream, and a healthy tan.

Now, his skin was terrifyingly pale except for the bright burn of the fever and he barely moved. Yesterday, he'd been awake more at least. Had been restless and fighting the fever and pain. Today, he'd been listless and quiet. Confused. Fading in and out. He looked small and lost in the hospital bed.

"I know it's not easy to see him like this," Ashley said softly, continuing with her assessment. "It's just going to take time."

Dean nodded, his eyes burning as he stared at his brother's face.

When he looked up again, Ashley was gone, but his cup of water had been refilled and replaced on the bedside table along with a blueberry muffin. He had no appetite, but he'd been forcing himself to eat whatever the nurses brought him. They made him leave for one full cafeteria meal at least once a day, but otherwise, he hadn't left the room.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" He leaned closer, heart jumping at the sound of his brother's voice.

"M'leg hurts."

"I know."

"Hot."

"Yeah, that's the fever," Dean said, brushing sweaty hair out of his brother's face.

Sam's eyes fluttered and he briefly got them open enough to meet Dean's gaze.

"Hey there, sleepy." Dean smiled, squeezing Sam's wrist.

"Wanna go home."

If any part of Dean's heart hadn't already been broken, it broke now as his little brother started crying. Sick and in pain, Sam had no defenses left. And neither did Dean.

"I know, Sammy," he whispered, putting down the side rail and carefully sitting on the bed.

It took a bit of gentle rearranging, but he finally settled on the bed, arms wrapping his brother into the only comfort and safety he could offer him at the moment.

Sam cried very briefly before he exhausted himself. His head rested against Dean's chest, his fingers grasping Dean's shirt. Dean kept whispering to him, anything he could think of to distract his brother, to calm him. Finally, it worked and he felt the last bit of tension ease out of his brother's worn out body as he fell asleep.

Reality sucked, but Sam was still breathing.

Dean smiled, closing his eyes and following his brother into sleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 22: DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned, Drugged, Withdrawal. let's just say, Dean is having a very bad day. lol ;)


	22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt options: Poisoned, Drugged, Withdrawal
> 
> prompt chosen: Poisoned
> 
> setting: a later season

* * *

"Holy crap, will you please kill me now?" Dean begged, slumped over the toilet. He chanced lifting his head, trying to get a glimpse of his brother. The room was empty. "Where are you?"

Silence responded to him.

"I'm going to die either way."

More silence.

"I can't believe you're going to ignore me as I die." Dean rested his forehead on his crossed arms.

"You're talking a lot for someone who's dying," Sam commented, floor creaking as he stepped into the bathroom.

Dean started to respond, but instead puked out another internal organ.

Sam said something behind him, then there was a cool cloth being pressed to the back of his neck.

"I'm not gonna make it, Sammy," Dean said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Take care of my Baby for me, ok?"

"Dean. You're not going to die."

It sure felt like he was.

Dean slumped down to the dirty tile. It disgusted him, but he was too sick to care. The germs on the floor weren't going to kill him any faster than the poison he'd ingested was going to do.

"You want to go back to bed?" Sam asked, flushing the toilet.

"I won't make it. I'll die halfway there."

Sam had the audacity to laugh.

Dean groaned.

"I'll just refrain from saying I told you so until you're feeling better."

Sam sounded disturbingly amused for a man whose big brother was in the process of dying a miserable death on a grimy bathroom floor.

"Never gonna feel better," Dean mumbled, stomach giving a lurch.

_Next round, starting now._

Sam helped drag him upright. Once he was propped against the toilet, Dean endured another vicious round of vomiting.

"We're going to the hospital if this doesn't let up soon."

Sam's voice sounded distant even though he was still standing right next to Dean. He also sounded a little less amused so maybe Dean's impending death was beginning to concern him at last.

"No hospital," Dean choked out, dizziness sweeping over him even though his head was still pressed against the toilet seat.

"Then stop puking."

To spite him, Dean puked until he saw stars.

"We're going to the hospital."

Dean peeled heavy eyes open. He was flat on his back and Sam was above him, frowning.

Sam was wearing his jacket. He hadn't been wearing it a moment ago...or maybe it was _several_ moments ago?

"I'm fine," Dean mumbled.

"You're really not."

"Dying?"

Sam shook his head, crouching down. "Not dying, but we _are_ going to the hospital. You just passed out and you've been vomiting for over twenty four hours now. And you can't keep anything down."

Hearing it listed out that way did sound a bit more serious. Dean stared at his brother, wanting nothing more than to argue vehemently against the idea of a hospital visit. But he didn't. Because any hint of teasing was gone and Sam looked worried. If the roles had been reversed and he'd been the one standing over his brother like Sam was, Dean would've already been dragging them toward the car.

So he lifted a shaking hand.

Sam nodded, a bit of relief in his eyes. He eased Dean upright and Dean wanted to give him grief for the gentleness, but didn't. Because if Sam hadn't been gentle, he probably would have passed out again. It was a close thing, anyway.

The trip to the hospital was a blur of misery. Dean didn't remember anything clearly about the trip, but he had the horrific suspicion he'd puked in his car. He hadn't asked yet; didn't really want to know.

Slowly, things began to make more sense. He was in a bed, uncomfortable and lumpy. His head was pounding and he still felt queasy, but it wasn't as bad as before. A bleary glance around revealed an IV in his arm. A bag of fluids hung above him and Sam was in the chair beside the bed.

"Dean?"

Blinking, Dean met his brother's gaze.

"How're you feeling?"

Dean started to answer, but his mouth was too dry to form more than a croak.

"Here," Sam said, offering him a cup with a straw. "Just a sip."

Feeling like an idiot, Dean took a sip. Swallowing hard, he said, "Better."

"You feel better?"

Dean rocked his hand back and forth. Better was a loose term.

Sam's smile was brief. He set the cup aside and said, "We shouldn't have waited as long as we did. Your electrolytes were completely out of balance."

"Told you I was dyin'." Dean regretted the glib comment at the guilty expression on his brother's face. "Hey, come on. I wasn't gonna die of freakin' food poisoning, Sam. I've survived cardiac arrest. Woke up from a coma. Been to hell and got the t-shirt."

"You killed Death," Sam added, the guilt fading a bit as he smiled.

"Yes I did. I also killed Hitler!" Dean grinned.

"And you have that t-shirt, too."

"Damn straight. So as you can tell from my track record, I'm not the kind of guy who lets a bad burger take me out."

"I did tell you not to eat it," Sam raised his eyebrow, guilt completely gone now and replaced with smug little brotherness.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm in a freakin' hospital bed. You couldn't wait just a little longer before starting the _I told you so's_?"

"I could not."

Dean couldn't help but smile. He closed his eyes, the brief chat already wearing him out.

"Get some sleep," Sam said softly. "We're not going anywhere for awhile."

"Next time, I'll listen to you about the burger."

"No, you won't."

Sam was probably right. Dean mentally shrugged.

"But I'll still tell you not to eat it," Sam added.

"I know you will."

"And when you wake up, I will be saying I told you so for the next few days."

Dean opened one eye to glare at his brother. Sam just stared back at him all too smugly. But there was still that hint of worry underneath which was why Dean closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

It was also why he'd be enduring his brother's _I told you so's_ for the next few days.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tomorrow's theme/Prompts: No. 23: WHAT'S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?, Exhaustion, Narcolepsy, Sleep Deprivation


	23. WHAT'S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! This was a fun one to write. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Exhaustion, Narcolepsy, Sleep Deprivation
> 
> prompt(s) chosen: Exhaustion and Sleep Deprivation
> 
> setting: anytime after they've got the Bunker

* * *

"Anything?"

Sam shook his head at his brother's question. "You?"

"This is just stupid." Dean slammed the book closed, dust flying.

"You want to stop?" Sam asked, waving a hand to dispel the dust cloud.

"Yes, Sam, I want to stop. I want to stop and get some damned sleep!"

Dean shook the coffee pot and poured the last dregs into his cup.

"That's not really going to help, you know?" Sam flipped through the book in front of him. "This isn't ordinary sleep deprivation."

"Of course it's not." Dean slammed a hand down on the counter. "You think I don't _know_ that?"

His words started off a tirade that Sam had neither the interest nor the lucidity to try to keep up with. Mostly, it was complaining about how they'd gotten into this mess in the first place and how stupid curses were and why was it always them who wound up in messes like this and if he wanted _a damned cup of coffee_ he was going to have one! There was a lot more along with it, but those were the highlights Sam's sleep deprived mind unwillingly absorbed.

He yawned, the words on the page blurring into a muddle of blackness. Blackness that swept him away like a cold ocean wave. He didn't even feel it when his head hit the book.

But he sure felt it when his brother hit him in the shoulder with a fist.

"Dean!" His head came off the book immediately.

"Right here, Sleeping Beauty." Dean sat down across the table from him and gave him a _hard_ kick in the shin. "Do not even think about closing your eyes again."

Sam groaned, rubbing his aching head. "How long?"

"How long have we been awake? I don't know. Couple days. How long till we can sleep? Well, when we're dead, we can sleep all the time. Which is what we're going to be if we don't figure this crap out."

"What?"

Sam blinked a few times as if that would help bring his brother's words into focus. None of it made sense. It all made even less sense when Dean tried to repeat it. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Dean shook his head. "This is a freakin' disaster."

"We've been through worse."

"Yes, we have. Doesn't mean this isn't still a freakin' disaster."

"We'll figure it out."

"You sure about that?" Dean raised an eyebrow, looking more sleepy than skeptical.

Sam laughed. "No, actually I'm not sure about anything except how much I want to sleep."

"Yeah well, pretend you're cramming for a final exam, college boy," Dean said, shoving a different book his way.

"College was a very long time ago, you know?" Sam yawned, shaking his head.

"Well forget college then, pretend you're researching for a hunt. One that we need an answer to _right now_ or else we're gonna die."

Sam laughed again, possibly a bit hysterically.

Dean grinned. "Just sayin'."

"Is there more coffee?"

"I thought you said, and I quote, _this isn't ordinary sleep deprivation_."

"I'm actually impressed that you got all the words in the right order." Sam rested his chin in his hand, yawning again.

Dean tilted his head, then said, "Actually, I am, too."

"So is there?"

"Is there what?" Dean frowned.

"What?" Sam only could keep one eye open.

"You asked me...something," Dean said, elbows on the table, hands pressed to his head.

"I did?"

"Mmhmm."

They fell silent for a moment. Then Dean's head hit the table and jarred them both to something resembling wakefulness again. Dean frowned, rubbing his forehead.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"I don't remember." Sam yawned, trying to focus. They had a pile of books and files spread out before them. "We need to…"

"Need to what?" Dean was leaning against the wall, his eyes slipping closed.

Sam honestly wasn't sure. He was too tired. Just way too tired. Nothing could possibly be that important. Not more important than sleeping. He was exhausted. They'd been up for...forever researching...something. It was time for a break. They deserved it.

He rubbed his eyes and debated if it was worth the effort to go to his bed or if he should just fall asleep right where he was sitting. Lowering his hand, his gaze drifted once more over the scattered books and files on the table. A lot of mess they were going to have to clean up later. Sam pushed some of the pile away and leaned forward to rest his head on his crossed arms on the table.

The scream of a klaxon blasted his eardrums and jolted his heart like an electric shock.

Dean's loud cursing drowned out the klaxon.

"What the hell is that?" Sam asked, sitting straight up, dry eyes wide, his pulse pounding.

"Damn alarm," Dean said, fumbling with his phone.

"You set an alarm that loud? Why?"

Dean held his phone up. The alarm was still blaring and the words on the screen said _fall asleep and you DIE dumbass!_

Sam rubbed his eyes and reread the alarm.

"I guess we shouldn't fall asleep," Dean said, finally turning the alarm off. "Just can't remember why."

"Curse," Sam said, looking at the book in front of him.

"Damn it?" Dean asked, looking at Sam like he was nuts.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not that kind of curse, you idiot."

Dean groaned, his gaze following Sam's as realization dawned.

For a moment, they stared at the chaos before them. So much information. So many wrong turns they'd already taken. So many ways to lose time and not break the curse.

"We're missing something."

"You think?" Dean muttered, rifling through the paperwork. "But what? There's no cursed object to destroy or lock up in a warded box. The person who created the curse has been dead for centuries so no one to kill. We've been through everything."

He was right. They'd torn their extensive collection of lore to pieces looking for answers. Hours of searching to come up empty while they grew more and more fatigued.

"Well, we'll have to go through everything again," Sam said, pushing himself to his feet.

It was like gravity had increased tenfold since he'd been sitting down. Wearily, he dragged himself to the counter. He grabbed a couple apples from the basket then made his way back to the table. Another time he might have tossed the apple at his brother, but in their current states of exhaustion, neither of them were up for a game of catch.

So he handed the apple to Dean as he collapsed back into his seat.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. "This will break the curse?"

"No. But we need to eat something and apples can be as good as caffeine for…" Sam trailed off. Staring at his own apple, he didn't have the foggiest idea what he'd been about to say.

"As good as caffeine for...waking us up?"

"Yes. That. Eat."

"I thought you said caffeine wouldn't help." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Now you want me to eat an _apple_?"

"Anything's worth a try, right?"

"At this point, if you told me kale would keep me awake, I'd eat it," Dean said around a mouthful of apple.

"Really?"

"No, not a chance."

Sam smiled.

After their snack, he had to admit he did feel a little bit more energized. And by _a little bit_ he meant barely at all, but it would have to do. Their lives depended on them being able to stay awake and solve this mess.

It was a good thing he'd just bought a big bag of apples...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Yes, I know that isn't a full ending so to speak lol. But you know they figure it out...somehow lol.
> 
> idk what time i'll be posting the next few days, have some family get togethering to do, but I am DETERMINED to post every single day (23 days i've made it so far!). So the posts may be later than usual, or they may be in the morning. just totally depends when I can find a moment to get them up. :)
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 24: YOU'RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE, Forced Mutism, Blindfolded, Sensory Deprivation


	24. YOU'RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! i'm down to the wire on this one, but it's still the 24th where I am so I still have managed to post each day! I had family down today and then we all went to a corn maze/apple orchard. It was a lot of fun, but left me scrambling to get this done! I think it turned out well despite parts of it being written on my phone in snippets whenever I had a spare second lol.
> 
> prompt options: Forced Mutism, Blindfolded, Sensory Deprivation
> 
> prompt chosen: Sensory Deprivation

* * *

Nightmare.

It had to be a nightmare.

Only a nightmare would leave him feeling so disoriented and afraid.

Right?

Dean blinked in the darkness.

Darkness? Dark like he was dreaming. Dark like it was the middle of the night in the bunker and the lights were all out. He couldn't see anything which, ok, so a nightmare. Middle of the night. Ok. He just had to reach for the lamp…

His hand brushed through free air. Through nothingness. Where was the end table?

He sat up. Or thought he did. Everything was strangely disconnected. He felt...he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Not a memory foam mattress beneath him. Not hard ground. Nothing.

Was he floating?

Dreaming. He had to still be dreaming.

Fingers pressing to his eyes - were they open? He couldn't tell, couldn't feel anything.

Normally, this was the moment a chill would run down his spine, but right now, there was nothing.

"Sam?" he called out into nothingness.

He didn't hear a reply.

He didn't hear...anything.

Licking lips that most surely had to be dry but he couldn't feel, he called out again, "Sam!"

The silent darkness swallowed everything up into itself. Like a vacuum.

Like a nightmare.

His skin should be crawling, but there was nothing. Rubbing his hands over his arms, and there was nothing, not even the sensation of the movement. For awhile, he sat - floated? - in the bubble of dark nothingness, trying to think.

He couldn't feel anything, but at least his brain still worked.

Where had he been? What had he been doing? Where was Sam? There was a dark nothingness where all those memories should have been. Terror began to creep through him.

"Sam!" he shouted this time, his ears rang and his throat hurt from the effort.

Except that they didn't.

He couldn't hear his own voice.

Nothing.

He couldn't see or hear anything and he couldn't feel anything either.

Panic took over where terror had started.

He screamed, he struggled, he reached out for something, for anything. His heart should have been pounding wildly in his chest, but there was absolutely no sensation...of anything.

At some point, everything went away completely.

It was just...gone.

He was gone.

And he was grateful.

* * *

Something touched his arm and Dean screamed.

This time, the sound flayed his throat, his skin burned with sensation at the touch, and his eyes opened to blinding light.

"Dean! Dean… it's ok...it easy...just me."

There was a voice above him somewhere, a dark, blurry form hovering over him. The voice was a boom of thunder and Dean clapped his hands over his ears at the agony. He squeezed his eyes closed and twisted away from the scalding touch on his arm. It was all too overwhelming. Too much sensation where there had been none.

A moment ago? A day ago? There was no sense of time in his mind. How long had he been without any sensation only to now have it back in overwhelming intensity?

"...going to be ok," the voice - Sam, it had to be Sam - said. "Just breathe."

There were no more touches, and the brightness faded a bit against Dean's closed eyelids. He focused on his breathing like he'd been instructed. A thousand questions ran through his mind, but nothing was clear.

"...was drugs…" Sam's voice was going in and out like static. "...don't know what….kept you under...been two days and…"

_Two days_?

It had only been two days?

He reached out through the nothingness and this time his searching hand closed around his brother's wrist.

"Sammy?"

Ground glass in his throat. Voice wrecked. It _hurt._ It hurt and he could feel it and he needed that. Needed to _feel._

"I'm right here."

Dean forced his eyes open. Dazzling light skewered his nerve endings and it was the most wonderful thing in the world. He squeezed his brother's wrist, gripping with both hands now, staring up at him.

"Happened?" he asked, the glorious pain in his throat tearing at him again.

"Later," Sam answered, his voice lower now, but still a thunderous antithesis to the stifling silence that had enveloped Dean for too long. "We can talk about it later, but we need to get out of here."

Sam was pulling on him, every touch a glorious agony of sensation. The room spun, but Dean managed to take in dingy grey walls. A bank of medical equipment in the corner. Filthy, rusty stretchers lined up in a morbid row.

"Hospital?" Dean asked, head spinning.

"That's where we're going, yes."

Dean squinted at the gritty room he was being dragged through. It looked like a hospital but Sam said they were _going_ to a hospital. So they weren't at a hospital already? He shook his head, his breath loud in his ears. So confused.

"Dream?"

"Nightmare," Sam said, his grip tightening and his steps moving faster.

Struggling to keep up, Dean asked, "You're in my nightmare?"

"You're awake, Dean."

"I am?"

"You are." Sam used his free hand to pat his chest. "I know you're confused."

Confused didn't even begin to cover it.

"So this isn't a nightmare?"

"It was. But I found you."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, struggling to keep on his feet. "I...couldn't… there was...there was just nothing."

"It was the drugs. The Vetala. It was creative." Sam was pushing him down. "Kept you drugged to feed on you over a longer period of time."

Dean put his hands down and there was soft, familiar leather beneath his skin. He rubbed the leather, savoring the sensation. Everything _felt_ so much. It was wonderful.

"Dean?" Sam was crouched down in front of him, his fingers digging into Dean's knees hard enough to bruise.

"What?"

"I asked if you were ok. Four times."

"Sorry," Dean said, studying his brother and marveling at _sight._ And _touch_. "I can feel your hands."

Sam nodded, squeezing a bit tighter. "They did a number on you, didn't they?"

"I think so." Dean touched Sam's shoulder. He could feel him. He was real. "You look worried."

Sam nodded again. "I am worried."

"But you found me and killed the thing, right?"

"Yes."

Dean smiled, his face tingling at the movement. "So let's go."

"Ok." Sam pushed himself to his feet.

A moment later, he was behind the wheel of the car. The engine roared to life and Sam asked, "Best sound you've ever heard, right?"

Head resting against the cool window, Dean watched the colorful scenery and said, "Second best."

"Second?"

"Your voice was the first thing I heard in two days."

"It's good to hear your voice, too." Sam smiled, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. The two days had obviously been hard on him, if in a different way.

Dean returned the smile, then settled more comfortably in the seat.

He wanted to know the details of what had happened. Felt increasingly sick to his stomach as his senses and awareness returned. Wasn't looking forward to the hospital visit that was next on the agenda.

But for now?

For now, he was going to relish simply being alive, having all his senses intact, and seeing his brother alive beside him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't know when tomorrow's will be posted, but I'm determined to get it posted so it may appear super late again lol. Better late than never!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 25: I THINK I'LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS, Disorientation, Blurred Vision, Ringing Ears


	25. I THINK I'LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm just barely getting this one in under the wire! Had another day full of family stuff and it was a really nice day, but I do not get much time to write when family is around lol. I had another scenario in progress for this prompt, decided it needs to be a separate story, so I had to completely start from scratch today. Thanks to Sylvia37 who gave me a delightful whumpy scenario that got this story rolling. This isn't very polished and isn't the best of the bunch, but hopefully it's still a nice whumpy read. :)
> 
> Additionally, this is going to be part 1 of 2. Tomorrow's prompt will be the second half of this little scenario. :)
> 
> prompt options: Disorientation, Blurred Vision, Ringing Ears
> 
> prompt(s) chosen: Disorientation, Ringing Ears
> 
> setting: Season Seven
> 
> the boys were investigating a case involving an old mine. they were almost out of the mine when there was an explosion...

* * *

The explosion threw Dean backwards.

That would have been bad enough, but hitting the wall was icing on top. It was a good thing that it was rotted planks of wood and not rock or he would've been dead, so all things considered, it could have been worse.

Stunned and breathless, Dean wasn't exactly in the mood to look on the bright side, though. Dust and smoke clogged the air, making it even more difficult to replace the air his lungs were so desperately screaming for. He coughed, lungs screaming in protest. It took a few struggling gasps until his lungs settled down.

Once breathing was no longer an all consuming priority, other things moved to the forefront of his mind.

His shoulders and back throbbed from the violent collision with the wall and his ears were ringing. A few tentative movements reassured him that nothing important was broken. Maybe a rib or three, but he was breathing. He opened his eyes to a smoky haze. Flames licked at the periphery of his vision.

_Time to go._

He pushed himself into a sitting position with some difficulty. Shoving wood and other debris off himself, he blinked against the smoke. They'd almost made it out before the ancient mine had exploded.

_Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades._

Dean snorted and immediately regretted it when his headache spiked. Something crashed somewhere, the sound muffled under the ringing in his ears. It was a strong reminder that they needed to get out of here.

"Sam?" he called, then dissolved into a coughing fit.

Everything was muffled, but there was no answering call from his brother. It was a red flag and spurred him into action faster than anything else could. Getting to his feet, he braced a hand against what was left of the wall he'd been blown through.

Every direction he looked, all he could see was smoke and flame. It was a nightmare made infinitely worse because he had no idea where his brother was. The last he'd seen, Sam had been headed for the entrance. Maybe he'd actually made it outside before the explosion.

A bit of hope sparking like the exposed wires to his left, Dean started stumbling in that direction. Tripping and stumbling over the debris, he continued to shout Sam's name, still without reply. Of course, all he could hear was that persistent ringing, so maybe Sam had been responding all along. Maybe Sam was trapped under some of the fallen beams, shouting himself hoarse for Dean to stop and help and Dean had walked right past him. He almost paused to go back to double check.

And then he caught sight of Sam.

Bright sunshine behind him, he stood just outside the mine entrance. His hands were extended as he stared into the mine with undisguised horror. He was shouting something, but Dean still couldn't hear him. Sam seemed to be staring straight at him, but maybe there was too much smoke for him to be able to distinguish Dean from the darkness.

"Sam, I'm right here," he called out, drawing closer.

A hint of relief flooded Sam's expression, but he didn't relax much. He stumbled over a pile of rocks, one hand landing against a beam just before he would have crashed to the ground.

"Just give me a second, I'm coming." Dean made his way through the wreckage, relieved to see his brother standing and apparently unharmed. "I can't hear what you're saying, my ears are still ringing."

Frowning, Sam called out something that Dean still couldn't catch.

"Hang on," Dean said, shaking his head and waving a hand at his ear.

Sam kept talking, though, his gaze flitting all over the place. One hand still on the beam, he reached out with his other.

Dean drew closer and some of his relief went up in smoke. Sam had no obvious injuries, but the closer he got, the more Dean could tell something was very wrong.

"Dean!"

_Finally!_

"I'm coming as fast as I can, Sam. I can hear you a little now."

"Are you alright?" Sam started moving forward, stumbled over a dip in the dirt and wound up on his hands and knees.

"I'm fine," Dean said, rushing the last few feet toward his brother. "Let's get out of here."

He reached down and hauled his brother upright, his ribs screaming at the motion.

"Are you alright?" Sam repeated, his hands gripping Dean's arms tight enough to leave bruises.

Dean kept walking, awkwardly dragging his brother further from the destroyed mine. He shook his head and said, "Come on, Sam, we need to get out of here. I'm fine. Just bruised and my ears are ringing from the explosion."

"Ribs? How bad?" Sam finally let go of one of his arms and they were able to move a bit easier.

"Cracked or broken, but I'm fine."

Sam nearly walked into a tree, Dean yanked him aside just in the nick of time.

"Stop worrying about me," Dean said, standing still and looking at his brother. "Pay attention to where you're going."

"Dean…"

Sam's voice trailed off, his hand still like a vice around Dean's arm. He reached out with his other hand, fumbling until his hand smacked Dean's chest. Fingers gripping Dean's jacket, Sam was staring at him with wide eyes.

Frowning, Dean asked, "Are _you_ ok? Did you hit your head?"

Something was wrong. No blood that Dean could see. No bruises, nothing obvious. But Sam was clinging to him and looked like he was going into shock. Realization started to dawn.

_It's got to be the hallucinations._

It didn't take much to trigger a hallucination. Didn't take much for Sam to lose focus, to be lost in memories of the Cage. A flaming, smoking, dark mine had to be prime real estate for the devil in his mind to exploit.

"Sam, are you with me?" Dean patted his brother's cheek while checking his pupils.

"Yes," Sam nodded, but he continued to stare through Dean, each breath faster and shallower than the last.

"Are you sure?"

"I...I think so. I _am_ with you, aren't I?" Sam asked, his voice almost too quiet for Dean to decipher the words.

"You're with me," Dean said, filling his voice with as much confidence and conviction as he could. "We're safe. We're ok. Right? You didn't hit your head or something?"

"No, but I can't… I can't…"

_Not good, so not good._

"Hey, hey, don't freak out on me," Dean said, hoping he could keep ahead of whatever panic attack was getting started. "You're going to hyperventilate. Slow down and tell me what-"

"I can't see," Sam interrupted, terror in his tone and in every tense inch of his body. "I can't see. Dean, I can't see!"

_tbc..._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a cliffhanger lol but the conclusion will come tomorrow, so not too terribly long to wait. :)
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 26: IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD..., Migraine, Concussion, Blindness


	26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am hoping the rest of the week I won't be posting this late. I am exhausted lol!
> 
> Hope you'll all enjoy the second part of this little story.
> 
> prompt options: Migraine, Concussion, Blindness
> 
> prompt chosen: Blindness
> 
> continues immediately after yesterday's scene...

* * *

Dean had been mentally preparing himself for a lot of possible scenarios (all of them bad) when he'd first recognized something was wrong. Hallucinations, internal hemorrhaging, head injuries, smoke inhalation, or any number of other equally horrible things. What he _hadn't_ been prepared for was the situation he found himself in now.

"You what?" he asked, shaking his head as if that would clear the ringing in his ears. As if it would change what Sam had said.

"I can't see," Sam repeated, confirming what Dean had really hoped he'd heard wrong.

"Ok, ok, let's just move a bit further from the exploding mine, ok?" Dean spoke very calmly because one of them had to be calm and Sam wasn't even in the running. "Let's just get over here and we'll figure this out, ok?"

Sam went easily enough although he didn't relinquish his grip on Dean's arm or his jacket. His breathing was still panicked as he stumbled along, his gaze frighteningly vacant.

"Alright, sit down," Dean instructed, guiding his brother down onto a tree stump. Still held fast by his brother's iron grip, Dean crouched down in front of him and said, "Ok. Let's figure this out. Did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so." Sam frowned, his breathing easing a bit as he focused on the question.

"That's good." Dean checked his pupils and they were reactive and the same size. Good signs. "Where were you when the explosion happened? You were almost to the door, right?"

Sam nodded. "I had just turned to look for you and then the explosion happened."

"Ok. Did you get thrown?"

Dean wrestled his arm free so he could stand up and run his hands through his brother's hair, searching for any evidence of an injury. Sam didn't relinquish his grip on Dean's jacket during the assessment.

"No...no, I didn't." Sam sounded halfway confident about that so it was a step in the right direction. "I was still on my feet after the blast."

"That's good."

Dean finished his assessment, satisfied there was no sign of any trauma or injury. Of course that didn't explain why Sam couldn't see. He frowned, looking his brother over. Somewhat grateful Sam couldn't see him right now because his face probably showed very clearly his own growing anxiety, he tried to focus on triaging the situation logically.

"When did you notice you couldn't see anything?"

Sam tilted his head, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, then staring into the middle distance as he said, "I remember turning to look for you and I saw this flash of light and then the whole area was filled with smoke and then I couldn't see anything."

"Ok. So maybe it's from the smoke. Do your eyes hurt?"

"No, not really." Sam shook his head.

"Well, they look fine. No burns or redness at all."

"So why can't I see anything?" Sam asked, his voice a little shaky.

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out. Should get back to the car and you can rinse your eyes out. Can you see anything? It's not just blurry vision?"

"It's _no_ vision, Dean. Nothing. Just darkness."

Dean's stomach flip flopped. He wasn't a doctor of any sort, let alone one who knew anything much about eyes. His triage abilities were already exhausted and he had no clue what was wrong.

"Let's go," he said, pulling Sam to his feet. "Get to the car then we'll get to the hospital. Get a trained professional to figure this out."

"What if there's nothing they can do?"

"There's always something that can be done." Dean refused to believe otherwise.

"Not always." Sam countered, his steps slow and tentative over the uneven, unseeable ground.

Tightening his grip and slowing his own steps to better guide his brother, Dean said, "Alright, Mr. Negativity."

"You'd be negative too if you couldn't see and didn't know _why._ "

_Why._

That was the question. Strange things happened all the time. Their lives were a testament to that. But without any obvious _cause,_ it seemed extremely strange that Sam suddenly couldn't see anything. It seemed even stranger given that the issue of late was Sam seeing things that _weren't_ there. Now he couldn't see things that _were_ there.

A gnawing sensation began spreading through Dean's gut.

_Why? No discernable injury. No obvious reason._

He glanced at his brother, the unease growing. Over the past week Dean had stopped counting the hallucinations. He'd grown so used to Sam flinching at nothing that it barely registered anymore, a realization that left him even sicker to his stomach.

_What if this isn't actual blindness?_

Sam definitely didn't seem to be able to see anything, but what if it was psychological, not physical?

_What if I'm wrong?_

_What if I'm right?_

"Sam?" he asked, guiding his brother down a sloping hill.

"Yeah?"

"Are you...is _he_ around?"

"No." Sam frowned. "Everything...it's quiet."

The moments when it was quiet were few and far between. The gnawing sensation grew icy tendrils of doubt that uncoiled and began taking hold.

"Is there any chance…"

Dean paused. Addressing the devil in the room was always tricky. Sometimes Sam could tell, could decipher the illusions in the midst of reality. And sometimes he couldn't. If this was a hallucination, it was a pretty damn strong one which meant pulling Sam out of it would be difficult.

"Any chance what?" Sam prompted.

"Any chance this is...a hallucination?" Dean asked, the word tasting like sulphur on his tongue.

Sam stopped moving. He turned to face Dean, pulling back slightly as he asked, "You think this is a hallucination?"

"I don't know, Sam. That's why I'm asking. You tell me."

For a moment, nothing happened as Sam absorbed Dean's words. And then Sam shoved him and started backing away, both hands out in defense.

"Sam…"

"Stay away from me!" Sam kept moving backwards.

From bad to worse in a heartbeat.

Dean moved forward, not daring to grab his brother. At least not yet. He tried to keep his voice even as he said, "Sam, it's me. Ok?"

"No, no, no. This isn't right." Sam shook his head, turning around. Hands out, he managed to prevent himself from running straight into a tree. Guiding himself around the obstacle, Sam said, "This is wrong. Something's wrong. Stay away from me."

"Sam, stop. Come on, let's talk about this." Dean cursed under his breath as Sam stumbled through a small bush as he kept moving.

_I should never have said anything. Should have handled this differently. Kept him calm._

He hurried after his brother, shouting at him when his calm words failed. But nothing broke through. If Sam hadn't already been hallucinating, he was now. Apparently, the devil had made an appearance and Sam was too engaged in arguing with him to listen to anything Dean was saying.

Dean cringed as a low branch smacked Sam in the face. It didn't break his stride, though, and Dean had to rush to keep up with him. The trees thinned out and then all Dean could see ahead was...nothing. A sharp drop off was ahead and Sam was heading straight for it.

There was no time for niceties at this point.

Rushing forward, Dean tackled his brother into the grass before he could fall over the edge.

They hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of Sam and jar Dean's ribs. He couldn't hold back a shout of pain. Despite that, he remained focused on his task. Sam was fighting him even while struggling for breath, but Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed _hard._ The cut had healed, but the trick still worked most of the time.

It took a moment, then it was like a switch had been flipped.

Sam collapsed back against the grass, his eyes wide as he sucked in a deep breath. No longer struggling, he looked at the hand Dean was still squeezing, then met Dean's gaze. Recognition dawned and the blank expression disappeared.

"Dean," he said, voice hoarse.

"You with me?" Dean asked, not releasing his brother's hand yet.

Sam nodded.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

Dean sucked in a relieved breath, releasing Sam's hand. "You can see me?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Ok, great." Dean patted Sam's chest.

Sam didn't look relieved, though. He looked absolutely horrified. He pushed himself upright, glancing around the area, before looking back at Dean.

One hand braced to his aching ribs, Dean asked, "What's wrong?"

"I thought...I couldn't see, Dean. I couldn't _see_ anything."

"It wasn't real," Dean said, trying once again to hold off a panic attack.

Sam nodded. "It wasn't real but I couldn't see. You could have been trapped in that mine and I wouldn't have been able to find you-"

"Hey, that's not what happened -"

" _This time._ " Sam grabbed a tree to brace himself as he struggled to his feet. "It didn't happen this time! What happens next time? When I think I can't see, or hear, or move? When he makes me think you're dead? When he makes it this _real_ and I can't tell the difference and I get you killed?"

His panic was contagious and Dean's heart skipped a beat.

Sam fell back to his knees, leaning forward and throwing up what little he'd managed to eat for breakfast.

Cursing, Dean braced an arm across his brother's chest to hold him up.

"We'll figure it out," he said, rubbing Sam's back with his free hand. "We always do."

But they had been trying for months and things were getting worse, not better.

He was pretty sure Sam didn't believe a word he was saying.

He didn't really believe it, either.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 27: OKAY, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTER ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake, Extreme Weather, Power Outages


	27. OKAY, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTER ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Got this one posted a lot earlier than the last few prompts haha! I have the week off from torture (aka work) and it's been glorious so far. had a lot of fun with this prompt. Hope you'll all enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Earthquake, Extreme Weather, Power Outages
> 
> prompt chosen: Extreme Weather

* * *

"Whose bright idea was this, anyway?" Dean shouted above the wind.

"You really want to go down that path right now?" Sam shouted back, struggling to nail the tarp down as it snapped in the wind gusts.

"I'm just saying that the ghost hadn't disturbed anyone for a century -"

"Other than the family it slaughtered last week," Sam interjected.

His comment shut Dean up for all of thirty seconds.

"Yes, _other_ than them," Dean grumbled, fighting to secure the other edge of the tarp. "And yet...we probably could have waited until _after_ the damn hurricane to come all the way out here and roast him. Which brings me straight back to _whose bright idea was this, anyway_?"

"It was _yours_ ," Sam snapped as a blast of wind and rain hit him in the face.

"You found the case." Dean dropped to a crouch, scrambling to pick up the nails he'd just dropped.

"I did, but you were the one who said we'd be able to hike all the way here, toast the ghost, and then make it all the way back to town before the first drop of rain fell." Sam grabbed the porch railing as another blast of wind nearly knocked him off his feet. "Those were your _exact words_ , Dean. Before the first drop of rain fell."

Dean glared up at him, his hair plastered to his face from the downpour. He pushed himself to his feet and finished nailing down the other edge of the tarp. Honestly, it had been a complete waste of time. The flimsy tarp would do very little to give them any shelter within the interior of the half crumbled mansion.

"Let's just get inside," Sam said, turning to the door.

Once they were both inside, they worked together to shove the heavy old door closed. It miraculously latched but they shoved a heavy desk in front of it anyway. Rain was still gusting in from the broken side windows, but tarping over the front windows helped a little. Together they stood, surveying the room.

The mansion had once been absolutely stunning. The evidence was still very much visible despite the years of decay and damage. It had been large and grand, but half of the mansion had burned down at some point, leaving the remaining half barely standing. They'd surveyed the grounds and the upper floor during the search for the vengeful spirit.

Sam stared upwards and gritted his teeth. The upper floor had been so rickety and dangerous they'd abandoned their search almost immediately. It wasn't safe to go upstairs, but it didn't seem much safer below. For one thing, flooding could become a very severe issue depending on how the storm progressed. For another thing, the upstairs seemed concerningly likely to join them on the first floor at any moment.

"I'm not sure if this place will flood first or collapse first," Dean muttered, wiping his face with the inside of his jacket.

They both put a hand to the desk as the mansion shook from a particularly strong gust.

"Maybe we should try walking back to town," Sam said as the walls shuddered again and the broken remains of the once grand chandelier rattled above them.

"You were the one who said it was too late and we should just secure things here and ride the storm out."

It was the truth.

He'd argued against coming out here in the first place because the weather report had been very clear that this was not a storm to take lightly. But they'd driven for two days to get here and Dean had been itching to deal with the ghost so here they were. They'd dealt with the remains and had been packing up when the storm started. Debating what to do, Dean had been ready to hike back the ten miles back to town. It would have required a ten mile hike through marshy lowlands that had been challenging to navigate _before_ the rain so Sam had voted to stay put.

Maybe Dean had been right.

Dean sighed and said, "You were right. We would never have made it back to town. If the flooding gets as bad as I think it might, we would be stuck out there somewhere in a tree."

Sam laughed. "In a tree?"

"Yep. Like a couple of stranded cats." He brushed a hand through his hair, gaze roving the room. "Alright. Time to find a place to get cozy."

"There was a pantry toward the back of the house," Sam suggested, gathering their gear. "The kitchen windows are all gone, but the pantry has a door."

Dean grabbed the other bag and nodded. "Sounds like a first class suite."

Sam snorted, but led the way back to the pantry. The house faced the storm so the pantry being in the back of the house was a good bet. It was small and windowless and hopefully more secure than some of the rest of the house.

All they could do was cross their fingers at this point.

They shoved some debris out of the pantry, then piled their gear inside. Closing the door, Dean dropped the last bag in front of the door. Sam set the little battery lantern in the middle of the room and took stock of their supplies. They had plenty of matches, a few random candles, two flashlights, and some extra batteries. They'd packed sandwiches and an assortment of snacks. A few bottles of water. Not a bad stash to weather a storm for a few hours.

_As long as the place doesn't flood or fall down, this might not be so bad._

Dean peeled off his dripping wet coat and dropped it on the bag in front of the door. The day had been muggy but the rain had been cold. Now, though, in this stifling little space, Sam was warming up quickly. He pulled off his coat, too.

The house shook and something above them somewhere creaked ominously. They both looked upward as if they could see what might be about to fall on their heads. The wind was screaming outside.

"This is going to be fun," Dean said, shaking his head, eyes wide in the dim lighting. "We've never weathered a hurricane before."

"Not what I'd call _fun._ " Sam took a seat, back to the wall.

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a seat next to him. "Well, we know _your_ definition of fun isn't normal."

"So sitting in a hot little closet waiting to see if the house is going to collapse around us is fun?"

"No, actually, it's not." Dean huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "I made a bad call. We should have waited to do this until after the storm."

They definitely should have, but Sam didn't comment. If Dean was acknowledging he'd made a mistake, there was no reason to rub his nose in it. They'd both made plenty of mistakes over the years, but this was certainly a new one.

* * *

"Sam." The annoying voice was accompanied by an equally annoying hand. "Sam, wake up."

Slapping his brother's hand away, Sam said, "Leave me alone. I just got comfortable."

"I can guarantee you won't be comfortable long." Dean's tone was an odd mixture of humor and concern. "We've got a problem."

The hot little room was cramped and had nothing in the way of creature comforts, but Sam had finally fallen asleep pressed between his brother and the wall. It had been a long week, a long walk, and Dean's shoulder had been right there so he'd taken advantage of it. Sleeping also alleviated the boredom that came from being stuck in a closet while a hurricane raged outside.

"What's wrong?" Sam groaned, sitting up a bit straighter and rubbing his neck.

"That."

Dean aimed the flashlight at the door. He'd moved the bag of gear away from the door and - if the floor hadn't sagged downhill toward the door - they would have already been sitting in two inches of water.

"Crap." Sam scrambled to his feet, fully awake now. He pulled their other bags away from the door.

"Exactly." Dean was stuffing their jackets into the backpack. "We're going to get wet."

Sam shone the other flashlight around the room, weighing options. A fresh wave of water flooded in around the door and they were suddenly ankle deep in shockingly cold water.

"We can't stay here."

"No shit." Dean slung a bag over his shoulder. "We're going to have to go up."

It wasn't a good option, but it was the only one they had. By the time they had everything gathered up, they were knee deep in water. Sam braced himself as Dean opened the door.

The rush of water had them both stumbling backwards. Dean cursed and struggled forward. It was a miracle they hadn't been flooded before now. They stepped out of the closet - water to their thighs - and surveyed the scene. The house was completely flooded, rain still pouring outside. The walls were shuddering under the force of the gale winds.

"This isn't just the rain," Dean shouted to be heard over the din, cautiously stepping out into the mess.

"Storm surge."

"We're so screwed, aren't we?"

Sam nodded. "Pretty much."

"Upstairs."

"Our best chance," Sam shouted back.

Dean nodded and put a hand to the wall as he moved forward. The house was dark except for the vivid flashes of lightning, but they'd pocketed the flashlights to keep their hands free. It had been the right choice because every step was a challenge.

The floor had already been rotted and broken in spots. Dean's foot had gone through a spot when they'd first arrived. Now they couldn't even see what was under their feet and were battling a frighteningly strong current.

Knowing what a hurricane was like was _nothing_ compared to actually experiencing one first hand.

A fresh wave of water rushed at them as they stepped into the hallway leading upstairs. Dean stumbled backwards against the waist deep onslaught and Sam almost caught him before he fell, but wasn't quite fast enough.

Going down hard, Dean disappeared under the water.

The wind, water, and darkness were disorienting, but Sam caught his brother's left arm as he was tossed and tumbled under the water.

Dean came up coughing and gasping. He struggled to his feet with Sam's help and together they started moving forward again. As they waded through the water, Dean had one hand out against the wall and the other cradled close to his chest.

"Are you ok?" Sam shouted, nodding toward Dean's arm.

"Wrist took the brunt of the fall," Dean answered, putting his shoulder against a door jamb.

"Broken?"

"I don't know."

The main living space was a swirling cauldron of wild water. They had to get through it to get to the stairs.

"It's just like crossing a river," Dean said, nodding at the mess in front of them.

Sam nodded, adjusting the pack on his back.

"Ready?" Dean asked, glancing at him, then back to the mess ahead.

"Let's go."

They braced themselves, stepping forward into the open water. Despite the wildness of the waters and Dean's injury, they made it to the base of the stairs without further incident. Cautiously going up the stairs, they both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the landing.

The upstairs was far more decrepit and the wind and rain were blowing fiercely through the many missing windows. Their earlier assessment of the upstairs had shown that there wasn't much left of any of the rooms. No secure place to go. There wasn't even much of the roof left.

"We might as well just sit here." Sam set one of the bags down. "I barely trust the stairs to hold us up. I definitely don't trust the floor up here."

"This is great," Dean shouted, motioning around with his good hand. "Bit drafty but great view."

Sam laughed despite the perilous situation. They piled the gear on the landing and took a seat side by side on the top step. Dean started digging through the pack for their jackets and Sam took over when Dean bit back a curse after jarring his wrist. Once they'd struggled into their jackets, Sam motioned to Dean's hand.

"Let me see your wrist."

Dean grumbled under his breath, but allowed Sam's examination.

"Might be sprained, but I don't think anything's broken," Sam said, finding an ace wrap in the bottom of the gear.

"Maybe we should try to get out of here during the eye of the storm."

Sam shot his brother a disbelieving look as he wrapped his wrist. "Are you planning to _swim_ ten miles back to town?"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, shrinking into his coat a little deeper; not that it provided much protection against the elements.

"That's what I thought." Sam smiled, finishing up. "We're going to be stuck here awhile. Till the water goes down, which could take days, or we get lucky and a search party with a boat or a helicopter finds us."

"I'm waiting for a boat."

Sam laughed.

They settled as comfortably as possible against each other, not that there was much warmth to be had.

"We're never taking a hunt in Louisiana during hurricane season ever again," Dean said as they stared down at the rising water.

"Deal."

* * *

The rest of the night, they took turns cat napping while the other monitored the rising water. They didn't wind up swimming and the house didn't wind up collapsing. The storm finally ended and the sun came out.

What followed after that was almost ten and a half hours stranded at the top of a staircase with nowhere to go and nothing to do except get on each other's nerves. By the time a Coast Guard rescue boat found them, they'd argued themselves hoarse over everything and nothing and weren't speaking to each other.

They spent the next week fighting over boxes of kleenex and decongestants, holed up in a motel recovering from the colds they'd developed.

And they never, never, _ever_ took another hunt in Louisiana during hurricane season.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this was a fun read!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 28: SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents, Hunting Season, Mugged


	28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning! I have to say, this Whumptober thing is very challenging because I want to do EVERY prompt option and write a gazillion more stories lol. Today's theme/prompts are a good illustration. I had a terrible time choosing. (Obviously, you can tell from previous stories that sometimes I don't choose lol and write all three options). I had so much fun in September going thru the prompts, jotting down the scenarios and who was going to be whumped etc. And then I've hardly stuck to anything I laid out lol!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Accidents, Hunting Season, Mugged
> 
> prompt chosen: Mugged
> 
> setting: pre-series

* * *

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam asked, jumping up from the bed, his pile of school books and note paper spilling onto the carpet.

"Nothing happened and don't swear." Dean slammed the door behind him then flipped the lock.

"Something happened. You're bleeding." Sam was at his side, hands reaching out, yet hesitating. "And you swear all the time."

Dean batted his little brother's hands away and said, "I'm the oldest. I can swear if I want to. You're only ten so you can't swear yet."

"You're being stupid. What happened?" Sam kept reaching for him.

"It's not a big deal. Stop it." Dean smacked his brother lightly on the shoulder. "Move."

Sam stepped back and Dean brushed past him, heading toward the bathroom.

He tried to hide his limp, but his leg hurt too much. As did just about every other part of his body. His nose had stopped bleeding but he hadn't been able to clean up much.

"Dean, what happened?" Sam asked, hot on his heels.

It wasn't just curiosity that fueled his inquiry; he was scared. Dean flipped on the light in the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror. No wonder Sammy sounded scared. Turned out he looked as bad as he felt. Bloody face, scrapes, and bruises, his shirt was torn and his knuckles were split.

"Dean?" Sam sounded close to tears now.

"I'm ok, Sammy," he said, patting his brother on the shoulder, then turning on the sink.

"Did you get in a fight?" Sam handed him a washcloth.

"Sort of."

Dean took the washcloth and carefully cleaned the blood off his face. His lip was split and there was a cut on his cheek still sluggishly bleeding. His side hurt where the guy had kicked him while he'd been down. All in all, he felt like crap.

"What do you mean sort of?" Sam tilted his head, elbows resting on the counter as he stared up at Dean in the mirror.

"I mean I sort of got in a fight. It wasn't my fault."

"Whose fault was it?"

Dean sighed, wiping the last of the blood off his face. He dropped the washcloth on the counter and said, "It was just this guy. He uh...he wanted money."

"You got mugged?" Sam's eyes went wide with horror.

"Yeah." Dean limped past his brother back into the main room.

It was idiotic. He was fourteen and knew how to handle a shotgun and how to destroy a vengeful spirit. He'd fought off bullies since he'd been in grade school. He should've been able to defend himself against one human mugger. But he hadn't and now he'd lost the money that had been intended to buy them some dinner.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, rubbing his side.

"Did he hurt you somewhere else?" Sam asked, sitting on the other bed, his hands on his knees.

"Just bruised," Dean said, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to tell his brother the goon had knocked him down and kicked him. "I'm ok, really."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He was achy and bruised and embarrassed but nothing was broken. He forced a smile and assured, "Really, Sammy, I'm ok."

Sam studied him for a long minute, then nodded and hopped to his feet. He went to his backpack and dug around for something. Finding what he was looking for, he smiled and climbed onto the bed next to Dean.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, wary of what type of medical intervention Sam was about to perform on him.

"Just gonna put this on your cut so it doesn't get infected," Sam answered, peeling open a bandaid.

It was one of the last _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ band aids from a box Dad had bought last year. Now they only got plain brown band aids, but Sam had been hoarding the precious few fun band aids he had left.

"Hey, just give me a plain one." Dean grabbed Sam's wrist as he started to put the band aid on Dean's face.

"No, you need this one." Sam bit his tongue, eyes narrowed as he painstakingly lined the bandaid up then smoothed it down.

The band aid wasn't magic or anything, but Dean felt better after Sam was done with his ministrations.

"Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nodded.

"I'm sorry I lost the money. We don't have anything for supper tonight."

"Sure we do." Sam hopped off the bed again and returned to his backpack.

Dean eased himself onto his bed, piling up the pillows behind his back. Relaxing against the pile, he watched Sam go from the backpack to the kitchenette. He rummaged around in the tiny refrigerator and then turned around, his arms full, and his grin triumphant.

He rushed across the room, spilling his pile of spoils on the bed.

One can of Coke. One pack of Twinkies, one pack of Ding Dongs. The last remnants of a bag of pretzels. And half a ham sandwich.

"You didn't eat all of your lunch," Dean said, frowning at the sandwich.

"I wasn't a whole sandwich hungry at lunch because it was Andrew's birthday so he brought a whole tray of cupcakes in and I ate two of them and then we got brownies in Mrs. Jacobsens class because we all got A's on our spelling test so that's why I wasn't a whole sandwich hungry."

Sam sucked in a deep breath after his explanation.

No wonder he had so much energy. He was still riding a sugar high from school.

Dean smiled and accepted half of the half sandwich. Sam counted out the pretzels into two even piles on a fast food napkin between them. Dean took the Coke for himself and made Sam drink water because he didn't need to deal with a caffeinated _and_ sugar-rushed little brother at seven in the evening on a school night. He also made Sam eat the last apple instead of the sugar laden treats.

"I'm glad you're ok," Sam said, after their foraged meal. He was curled up next to Dean, half hiding behind a pillow as they watched a scary movie. "Next time, we'll go together. We can beat anybody if we're together, right?"

"Right." Dean smiled.

He still was frustrated and annoyed by what had happened, and he was sore and achy. But they'd made the best of things because that's what they always did. Next time he'd be better prepared. No mugger would get the best of him ever again.

"Are you gonna have nightmares about the guy who stole our money?" Sam asked, abandoning the pillow and clutching Dean's arm as the monster in the movie roared and attacked.

"No, but you're gonna have nightmares about the swamp monster or whatever that thing is." Dean shifted and wrapped his arm around his brother, drawing him closer. "We should turn it off."

"I'm not scared," Sam insisted, despite burying his face against Dean's shirt when the monster started eating people.

Dean smiled.

An hour or so later, they fell asleep side by side and neither of them had a nightmare the whole night long.

* * *

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out so much sweeter than I'd expected lol. I can't believe we only have THREE more prompts to go! I'm actually really sad! This has been a BIG challenge posting a story a day and keeping them SHORT but satisfying (mostly lol). I have never done this before and it's been a very good writing challenge for me. now that it's coming to a close, i'm very sad! But we still have three more lovely whumpy days to go!
> 
> ps, tomorrow's story will be a continuation of a previous prompt... :) (unless of course muse changes my mind again which has been known to happen)
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 29: I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR, Intubation, Emergency Room, Reluctant Bedrest


	29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, meant to have this up a long time ago. here it is at last...
> 
> prompt options: Intubation, Emergency Room, Reluctant Bedrest
> 
> prompt chosen: Reluctant Bedrest
> 
> setting: preseries. Dean 17, Sam 13. continuation from prompt #6 and prompt #21
> 
> Sam had been injured in a warehouse with a piece of rebar in his leg that Dean had secured and then taken him to the hospital. This takes place a few days after the last scene...

* * *

Sam stared at the wall. Then the ceiling. Then, just for the fun of it, the other wall. He was bored. No, he was _beyond_ bored. He'd been bored three days ago. Yesterday he'd gone stir crazy and now he was pretty sure he was just plain losing his mind.

He'd finally been released from the hospital yesterday and Dean had settled them into what was actually a nice motel. Nice or not, it was boring.

The television was on, but he wasn't paying any attention. Over the last week he'd already watched just about everything on every single channel. It was all completely boring. The television was only on to provide some background noise in the otherwise silent room.

Sighing, his gaze roved the room again. There was a stack of books on the nightstand next to him, but he couldn't focus on reading. His eyes were hot and the words got blurry after only a couple minutes. It was frustrating and he'd already thrown one book across the room. It was behind the dresser and he'd have to try to remember to ask Dean to dig it out when he got back.

Speaking of which...Sam frowned, trying to remember where Dean had gone. Memory completely useless, he patted the bed around him until he found the motel notebook. Rubbing his eyes, he squinted until he could make out Dean's note.

_Grocery run. Left at 1:30 PM. Stay in bed!_

The last bit was underlined multiple times.

He smiled at his brother's bossiness. The smile faded pretty quickly when he considered the reason for the command. He wasn't supposed to get up on his own. Relegated to mandatory bedrest, he wanted nothing more than to get up and do _something,_ but he'd already tried that earlier when Dean had been in the shower.

Dean hadn't been amused in the slightest when he'd walked out of the bathroom to find Sam crumpled on the carpet, biting back a groan, tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes, both hands wrapped around his throbbing leg.

He'd just wanted to get out of the stupid bed for a few minutes. Despite how much progress he'd made, getting up on his own without Dean's assistance had been a lot more difficult than he'd anticipated. He'd only made it a couple steps before he'd gone down hard.

The tongue lashing he'd received had been relatively mild and Dean had been excruciatingly gentle as he'd helped Sam back to bed and gotten him settled with his leg elevated on a couple pillows. Sam had been hurting badly enough that he would have agreed to anything Dean said so long as he got a painkiller. Dean had doped him up but good and settled an icepack on top of his throbbing leg.

From there, things had gone fuzzy, but he remembered Dean putting his cell phone in his hand before he'd left for the store. Fumbling with the bedding again, he found the phone and glanced at it. The time on the phone was quarter after two. Probably wouldn't be much longer until Dean returned.

Sam let the phone and the notebook drop back to the bed, too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

It was actually scary how quickly he tired. Dean had told him over and over that he was lucky to be alive. That the infection in his leg had spread and the sepsis had nearly killed him. That it was ok if he slept a lot because he was still recovering.

Sam didn't have a lot of clear memories of the past week, but it was obvious from the way Dean hovered over him that it had been bad. _Really_ bad. It was probably just as well that he _didn't_ remember all of it. What he did remember was a jumbled nightmare of agonizing pain and complete disorientation.

Shifting a little, trying to find a comfortable position, he sighed. Nothing was comfortable. Everything was sore and stiff. He shoved at the covers, suddenly overheated despite the ice pack on his leg. The notebook tumbled to the floor along with the tv remote, but he caught his phone in time. Even with the covers pushed away, he couldn't get comfortable. Rolling to his side was agony, but once he was on his side, one pillow trapped between his knees, it was almost worth it.

Almost.

His back felt a little better, but the ice pack had fallen off his leg, and the movement had stirred up a fresh bout of nausea. He closed his eyes, fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. He would _not_ throw up. He'd been sick to his stomach most of yesterday, but the last time he'd thrown up had been in the hospital and he was absolutely not going to start that again.

Concentrating on not throwing up was as exhausting as everything else and he drifted into darkness.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was just above a whisper, his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Dean?" Sam struggled to get his heavy eyes open. "You're back."

"Been back for a few hours."

"You have?"

Dean smiled. "You were sleeping hard when I got back."

"Time's it?"

"Time for your antibiotics or I would've let you sleep longer." Dean patted his shoulder, standing up from a crouch. "It's almost six. Time for something to eat and your meds. How're you feeling?"

Sam closed his eyes, sorting through the sensations. Stiff, sore, and still hot. He yawned, then looked up at his brother and said, "Fine."

"Liar liar pants on fire," Dean said, _tsking_ as he shook his head. "You look terrible."

"Thanks." Sam rubbed his eyes, uncoordinatedly shoving at the blanket. "Too hot."

"Yeah, because your fever is up again." Dean frowned, his hand on Sam's forehead. "Tylenol _and_ antibiotics. Come on, let's get you settled."

Dean did all the work of course, moving bedding and pillows to his satisfaction. Sam just let him do whatever he wanted and tried not to throw up. By the time he was settled against a pile of pillows and Dean had adjusted the blankets just right, he was dizzy and considering another nap.

"Stay awake." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face.

"I'm tired." It would have been embarrassing how whiny he sounded if he actually felt well enough to care.

"I know."

"And I'm bored."

Dean squeezed his shoulder. "I know you are."

"I can't get out of bed and I can't even read a book and the tv sucks and I'm sick of feeling so crappy and my leg _hurts_!"

His voice cracked at the end and it was all he could do to hold back the tears.

"Oh my gosh, you are so grumpy!" Dean exclaimed. "You want some cheese to go with that whine?"

"You're a jerk," Sam said, wiping a hand over his face. He tried to pull himself together, grateful to his brother for the distraction his teasing provided.

"And you're a whiny little bitch." Dean grinned, mussing his hair more gently than he ever would have on a normal day. He sobered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hey, I know this sucks, Sammy. It's just gonna take some more time."

Sam nodded.

"Alright. So. Assuming you still aren't hungry and don't want to eat, what can we compromise on that you _will_ eat?"

"Dunno." Sam rolled his head against the pillow glancing toward the little kitchenette. "What'd ya bring me?"

"A variety." Dean smiled. "Soup, which yes I know you're sick of, but it's easy on your stomach. Jello. Applesauce. Mac and cheese. Stuff to make PB&J, including bananas. Some ice cream."

"Ice cream?"

"Chocolate or vanilla."

"Chocolate."

"Really?" Dean asked, a bit of the ever present worry fading from his eyes. "You'll eat some ice cream?"

"Yeah. Sounds good."

"Alright. Ice cream coming right up."

Sam really wasn't hungry, but taking pills on an empty stomach was a recipe for disaster and Dean looked positively thrilled about him being willing to eat. He'd had to be able to eat in order to leave the hospital and that had been a battle.

The ice cream actually didn't sound too bad, so hopefully he could choke it down.

He caught sight of another bag on the table while Dean was scooping ice cream into a cheap plastic bowl.

"What's that?" he asked.

Dean turned, frowning, then followed his gaze. A smirk spread over his face as he said, "Oh that? That's nothing."

Obviously it was _something._

" _Deeeean_ ," Sam full on whined, not in the mood to play along.

Dean rolled his eyes. He snagged the bag as he walked over. Dumping the bag carefully on the bed next to Sam, he said, "I know we've watched just about everything known to man in the past few days, but it's Halloween in two days so I figured it was time for a marathon."

Sam peered into the bag. It was full of VHS tapes from Blockbuster.

"We got _Ghostbusters, The Blob,"_ Dean listed off, putting something into the microwave, " _Christine, Arsenic and Old Lace-"_

" _Arsenic and Old Lace_?" Sam looked up in surprise.

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? It's funny."

Sam smiled. It _was_ funny. He looked through the rest of the tapes, then asked, "How'd you get Blockbuster tapes?"

"I got a membership." Dean grinned, exchanging the bag of tapes for the bowl of ice cream.

"You did?" Sam took the bowl of ice cream.

"Sure. Why not? Now, we can rent movies anywhere." Dean started stacking the VHS tapes on the TV stand. "What do you want to start with?"

" _Ghostbusters._ "

Dean grinned. "That's what I thought. Ok, deal is you eat that ice cream and take your pills like a good little invalid and then we'll watch the movie."

"Deal," Sam said around a mouthful of ice cream.

Nodding, Dean put _Ghostbusters_ in the VHS player under the TV. He went for the pills and a glass of water. Once Sam had taken the pills, Dean picked up the remote from the floor and handed it over. The microwave beeped and he went back to the kitchen. A moment later, he settled on the bed with a bag of popcorn.

Sam had only managed to get the TV on by the time Dean sat down. He dropped the remote in Dean's lap and leaned his head back against the pillows, the bowl of ice cream loosely held in his hands.

"You're not poopin' out on me already, are you?" Dean asked, elbowing Sam.

"No."

"Uh huh." Dean started the video then opened the bag of popcorn. "You're supposed to eat all that ice cream; that was the deal."

"Just takin' a break."

"You're not going to make it through the movie," Dean said, amusement in his tone.

"Will too." Sam forced himself to pick up the spoon and start eating the ice cream again.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Sam licked the spoon as the movie started. He wanted to insist he wouldn't fall asleep but it would be a losing bet.

"It's ok, Sammy," Dean said, popcorn spilling as he grabbed a handful. "We've got three days to watch the movies."

"Good thing." Sam yawned. "Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome. Finish your ice cream."

"Can I have some popcorn?"

Dean held the package out.

Sam grabbed a small handful.

Maybe he wouldn't make it through the entire movie. Probably he would still be in pain and miserable tomorrow. But he _definitely_ couldn't have made it through the past week without his brother.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 30: NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal, Ignoring an Injury, Internal Organ Injury


	30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, running a bit late getting this posted, but here it is. :) Hope it's ok, I'm pretty tired and not thinking too well, so it may be a bit rougher than usual.
> 
> prompt options: Wound Reveal, Ignoring an Injury, Internal Organ Injury
> 
> prompt chosen: ignoring an injury
> 
> Setting: tag to 15.04 Atomic Monsters

* * *

Everything was fine until they got home.

To be accurate, of course, absolutely _nothing_ was fine and Dean wanted to kill someone — Chuck in particular — and everything was one great big pile of steaming _not fine_ with a _can't possibly get worse_ as the cherry on top.

And then it did get worse.

Dean was ready to hit the shower and wash away all memories of the crapfest of a day. Not that _anything_ could wash memories away. If only it was that simple. They'd dumped their gear on a table, then Dean had led the way down the hall, stopping off in the kitchen. He wanted a shower, but he _needed_ a beer first.

Grabbing one out of the fridge, he popped the top, then stared blankly at the wall as he drained it in a few swallows. He set the bottle down, considered grabbing a second one, and then glanced over his shoulder. To his surprise, Sam was hovering just inside the kitchen entryway.

He looked as tired as Dean felt.

"Beer?" Dean offered.

"No."

"Looks like you could one."

It actually looked like Sam could use something a helluva lot stronger. It had been a terrible day. Maybe a few shots would take the edge off. But, then again, the way Sam was standing there - almost wavering - had Dean rethinking his offer of alcohol. He took a step closer; just in case. A second later, he wished he'd taken a few more steps closer.

Sam made a soft sound, like he'd been trying to say something, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went down like a ton of bricks.

"Damn it!"

The empty bottle in his hand shattered on the counter as he rushed to his brother's side.

"Sam?"

He hit his knees, fingers fumbling for a pulse. He found it and sucked in a deep breath. A second later, Sam shifted a little and the panic crushing Dean's chest eased enough that he could breathe.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?" Sam struggled to get his eyes open. Blinking hard, he tilted his head and met Dean's gaze. "What happened?"

"You tell me. I asked you if you wanted a beer and you just went over." Dean shook his head, heart pounding in his ears. "If you didn't want one, you could've just said so. Didn't have to be so damn dramatic."

"I did say I didn't want one," Sam mumbled, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. "Got a headache."

Dean frowned. There had to be more to it than just a headache. Looking his brother up and down, he asked, "What else?"

"What?"

"What else? Did you get hurt somewhere?"

"No." Sam started to push himself up.

"You usually don't pass out from a headache, Sam," Dean said, putting a hand behind Sam's back to steady him. "What's going on?"

"Just tired." He was pale, a light sheen of sweat on his skin and he was still fighting to keep his eyes open.

Dean narrowed his eyes. It wasn't like it was a secret that Sam hadn't been sleeping. Or eating. Passing out cold seemed extreme, though. Dean's mind ran through the events of the past day. No injuries sustained that he could remember. They'd barely been out of each other's sight.

Was it just exhaustion?

And then he watched Sam trying to get to his feet obviously favoring his left side and it hit him like a lightning bolt.

_The gunshot wound._

"Let me see your shoulder," Dean said, holding him down with a hand on his other shoulder.

"It's fine."

"You keep saying fine, but I'm honestly not sure you know what that word means," Dean said, ignoring the protests and managing to sneak a peek before Sam's annoyance reached a level where he started fighting back.

The wound looked the same as it had every other time Dean had looked at it. It didn't seem to be getting better, but it wasn't getting worse.

"I said it's fine." Sam tugged his shirt back into place.

"It's not healing."

Sam shrugged, pulling himself up with a hand on the edge of the table.

"Sam, we can't just ignore it." Steadying him as he rose, Dean added, "We need to…"

_Need to what?_

Need to go to the doctor? Get it assessed by a medical professional? Yeah, that would work out well. No doubt emergency rooms everywhere knew exactly how to treat a wound caused by a bullet that was nothing more than a burst of "multidimensional energy" or whatever nonsense Chuck had spouted back in the graveyard.

"There's nothing we can do about it. It's not getting worse, so ignoring it is all I've got," Sam said, pulling away. "I'm ok."

"You're not ok, but, sure, let's go with that," Dean muttered.

Sam didn't reply, just started walking out of the kitchen.

As they walked, Sam peeled his coat off and let it drop to the ground. Dean didn't bother to pick it up. He was too tired to care and, clearly, so was Sam. Reaching Sam's room, Dean lingered at the door.

"You want anything to eat?" He said it just to fill the silence. The truth was, Sam didn't want anything to eat and neither did he.

Sam didn't even bother to answer. He just slumped down on the edge of his bed and started taking his boots off.

"I'll get you some water."

Turning away, Dean moved back toward the kitchen. He had intended to take a shower, but it didn't seem very important now. He took his own coat off as he walked and allowed it to drop right next to Sam's on his way by. Once in the kitchen, he filled a glass with water and dug around until he found some painkillers.

Sam was flat on his back on the far side of the bed, right arm over his eyes.

"Meds, then sleep," Dean said, nudging the mattress with his knee.

It took a few seconds of continued encouragement before Sam stirred. He'd been a lot closer to sleep than Dean had realized. But he took the pills and a few sips of water before collapsing back against the pillow with a mumbled _thanks._

Dean left the glass of water on the bedside table then returned to the kitchen.

* * *

He got another beer and started cleaning up the broken bottle pieces.

For a few minutes, he was able to blank his mind. Not think about anything other than picking up broken pieces of glass. Broken pieces of glass. Broken pieces just like their lives. Just like everything around them.

Just like _them._

Wonderful. So much for not thinking about anything.

Mood fouling, he finished off the second bottle of beer and then reached for the hard stuff. The stuff that would actually make his brain empty.

He cleaned the kitchen that didn't even need to be cleaned and got drunk in half the time it usually took. Unsteady on his feet, he stumbled around the kitchen, trying to remember what he'd been trying to forget.

"Huh. Couldn't be important," he said aloud, banging his hip against the table as he tried to walk toward the door.

Steadying himself with a hand on the table, he took another long drink. The floor wavered, or he did. Either way, getting to the door took him multiple tries. His third attempt landed him on the floor. He had to sit there for a while before he remembered how to stand up.

Shoulder to the wall, he walked forward without direction. He'd forgotten the bottle on the kitchen floor, but wasn't going back for it now. He was tired. Suddenly _very_ tired. Should probably go to bed. He was tired and drunk and walking had been a stupid idea, especially since he'd left the bottle behind. Because walking required a low level of brain function and the more he walked the more that brain function tried to push past the alcohol induced oblivion.

The alcohol was winning; just barely.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, but that was fine because he always wound up where he was supposed to be.

One of the small bedside lamps was still on as he wavered his way across the room to the bed. It gave him a target to aim for and he made it without falling on his face on the floor. Instead, he fell on his face on the bed, managing to even get his head on the pillow.

Groaning, he shifted until he could breathe. He wasn't comfortable, but he didn't care enough to bother moving. His head was swimming and he just needed to be still.

The bed shifted slightly next to him in a cautious way that told him Sam was well aware he was completely plastered and rocking the boat would be a bad idea. After a moment, he settled again. Dean listened to Sam's breathing for any sign of distress, but there was none. Relaxing a little, he hoped they'd both sleep.

Not that they ever had much luck.

Lately, it was always the same routine.

He would pass out for a few hours, wake up with a pounding headache and the sight of a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the nightstand. He would wander to the kitchen, eyes shaded from the bright lights. Sam would be on his third cup of coffee, eyes locked on his computer screen.

After a strenuous hunt, when they were both physically worn out, sometimes it was easier to sleep. He had hoped this hunt would have been uncomplicated and give them both a jolt back to normalcy. It hadn't, though. He wasn't sure, but there was a nagging voice warning him the hunt may have made things worse.

Despite the alcohol haze, he remembered their conversation on the way home.

They'd talked about how much they'd lost. The reasons they clung to in order to keep going. He'd tried to focus on the positives, but Sam hadn't been able to see anything positive. Focused on the ones they'd lost, he'd said he didn't feel free. That he couldn't breathe.

_Maybe I'll feel better in the morning,_ Sam had said.

_And what if you don't?_

_I don't know._

Even now, Dean's guts gave a sick twist as worry swept over him at the memory.

He'd been worried about his brother for a long time now. Forever, it seemed. But ever since they'd gotten back to the bunker after...after _Rowena,_ he'd been even more worried. Getting home should have made things better, but - like the hunt - it hadn't. It hadn't made things better and it hadn't helped things get back to normal.

If there even _was_ a normal for them. Considering he'd just collapsed onto his brother's bed, he was pretty sure normal didn't apply to them at all.

It had been an accident the first time it had happened. One night during the Michael fiasco, Dean had collapsed - drunk - on the side of Sam's bed and fallen asleep. He complained about not having a pillow the next morning and the next time he collapsed - drunk - on Sam's bed, his head hit a pillow. The pillow had never been removed and he'd been collapsing here off and on ever since.

Usually, he was drunk. Occasionally, he wasn't.

Since normal didn't apply to them, if they needed to be close to each other like this to keep them sane, then this was what they were going to do. Dean had never cared what anyone else thought about...well, anything.

Not that there was anyone around to care, but if they did?

"Screw 'em," he mumbled.

"What?" Sam shifted.

"Nothing. Go t'sleep."

Sam didn't respond and silence fell over them like a blanket. The quiet was good. Peaceful. Dean could concentrate on his brother's breathing. Feel him safely settled within reach.

There wasn't a lot Dean could do to protect his brother from whatever was ahead of them, but damned if he wouldn't try.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe tomorrow's the last day! :( it's been a huge challenge to do this, but it's been a lot of fun, too. It will be nice not to have the pressure of having to post each day, but I will also miss it. :)
> 
> tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 31: TODAY'S SPECIAL - TORTURE, Experiment, Whipped, Left for Dead


	31. TODAY'S SPECIAL - TORTURE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Ahhh! Happy sad moment right now! I'm happy because I managed to post every single day this month woohoo! I'm happy because I really love all the little fics I wrote this month! And i'm sad because this is the last one! :( This was a happy distraction from work and life this month and I'm so going to miss it. I am not done writing tho, so don't fear! I have oodles more SPN stories to come! :) No idea when I'll post the next one, but I will be continuing to post stories.
> 
> Thank you all SOOOOOO much for your wonderful, encouraging reviews this month! I'm totally blown away by all the lovely notes and kudos you've all sent me. :) they truly mean the world to me! 3
> 
> Alright, here we go! Last prompt for Whumptober 2020!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> prompt options: Experiment, Whipped, Left for Dead
> 
> prompt chosen: left for dead

* * *

Sam woke up dead.

No, not really dead.

Just close.

Close enough that he'd been left in the grass for time and blood loss to finish what the black dog had started. He'd killed the dog before it had killed any of the innocent nature hikers they'd come to save. The volume of blood saturating his clothes indicated that perhaps the black dog had done exactly what the hikers had said - killed him.

_It killed him! Look at the blood! There's no way...he's not breathing. We have to go! Leave him. We can't save him. What if there's more of those monsters? We'll be dead too if we try to drag him with us._

The words of the hikers had drifted over him, but he'd still been in the process of fighting his way back to consciousness and they'd scurried off before he could prove conclusively he wasn't dead. Not that it probably would have mattered. They were terrified people focused on saving their own skin.

Left for dead.

It wasn't the first time.

Sam's eyes finally won the battle to open and he stared up at the tree branches. The wind gently swayed the branches, sunlight flickering through the leaves. Early afternoon sunlight warmed his face even as blood loss chilled him to the core.

It had been a pretty day. A good day for a hike. A good day to take on a vicious killing machine terrorizing a small tourist town.

He shifted his right arm, the disturbing sensation of blood flowing where it wasn't supposed to sent him into a bout of shivering that rattled his teeth.

_Not good!_

Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard.

They'd split up. Two groups of hikers - _freakin' morons_ Dean had called them - so they'd each gone after one group. Hoping to get the people to safety without encountering the black dog had been a worthy but ultimately unachievable goal. At least the hikers were safe. That was all the consolation available to him at the moment.

_They left me._

It wasn't the first time he'd been left for dead, but his heart still skipped a beat at the horror of it.

"Dean?" he called out, his voice a wisp of sound floating on the breeze.

Dean surely was on his way by now. Sam didn't have the strength to lift his arm to check the time. He couldn't remember when he'd found the hikers. Had no way of knowing how long it had been since they'd left him.

All too clearly, though, he remembered when the dog had attacked. When he'd gone down, agony slicing through him as the dog shredded his skin. Fighting with everything he had as the hikers scattered and screamed.

"Dean."

It was useless and just wasting his breath, but saying his brother's name was something to hold onto. Something to keep him focused on survival instead of death. Dean was coming for him, he had no doubt on the matter. What he _did_ doubt was whether or not he would still be alive when Dean found him.

Gritting his teeth, he shifted. His body seemed completely drained of strength if not of blood. Moving his left arm was like moving a mountain. His right side was a confusing mix of numbness and nightmarish pain. Left hand finally landing on his chest, he inched it across his body until he was touching…

A scream tore from his throat as his fingers touched bloody, torn flesh.

The world blacked out.

* * *

Sometime later, he surfaced again.

This time, it was dark. Had it been dark before?

_Where?_

He didn't know where he was. Didn't remember how he'd gotten...wherever. Fighting the waves of numbing blackness didn't seem worth the effort, but something made him try anyway. He lifted his left arm. It was heavy and shaking and covered in blood.

_Strange._

Allowing his arm to drop back to his chest, he tilted his head to the right. The world swum dizzyingly. Everything was pulsing and shifting around him. Through the haze, he caught a glimpse of his right side.

If he could feel anything, he would probably be screaming in pain.

The thought was amusing but he couldn't laugh. He was too shocked, too bewildered, too terrified by what he saw. Bloody, torn flesh. Deep gashes, possibly down to bone.

_Is my arm still attached?_

It was a disturbing consideration, but meant nothing.

_What?_

Unable to remember what he'd just been thinking about, Sam drifted away on a gentle wave of darkness.

* * *

A torrent of profanity welcomed him back to consciousness.

_Dean._

Sam opened his eyes to see his whole world right in front of him.

"Sammy," Dean breathed out the word. One of his hands was on Sam's forehead, one was resting lightly on his chest. "Hang on, ok, we're getting you out of here."

Having no clue where _here_ was, Sam just nodded. Dean was here and that was all that mattered. He closed his eyes.

"No, no, no." Dean patted his cheek. "Stay with me."

Forcing his eyes open again, Sam squinted up at his brother. "Happened?"

"Some kind of wild animal tore you up."

There was something cryptic in the statement, something warning in Dean's expression, but Sam couldn't decipher any of it. So he took it at face value, too tired to pursue the topic.

"We're getting you to the hospital."

Sam allowed his gaze to look beyond his brother. Lights. Faces. He was floating, moving under the trees. People talking. Beeping monitors. A mask over his face. A bag of something red hanging from something above him.

A flicker of a memory.

_Black dog._

He'd fought it.

He was bleeding.

He was left for dead.

"Dying?" he asked, seeking his brother's gaze again.

"No." Dean sounded very certain and it was reassuring.

"They left me."

"I know." The words were soft but the fury in Dean's eyes was red hot.

"Thought..thought I was dead."

"They said you were dead." He choked on the words. "But I didn't buy it. I didn't buy it."

"I thought...I was dead."

"You held on for me." Dean smiled. "I was coming for you. Always will."

"Always wait for you."

"You better."

Things got a little disorienting after that and he lost sight of his brother. Just as panic started to flood him, Dean was back in his line of vision.

"I'm right here. We're in the ambulance. Get you fixed up at the hospital, ok?"

It sounded like a great plan. Sam frowned. Something he was forgetting. Something important. Fishing around his jumbled memories, he finally remembered.

"Did you bring it?" Sam murmured as the ambulance started to move.

"Bring what?" Dean asked, leaning close.

"M'arm."

"Your arm?"

"Did y'get it?" The words slid together but it was really important. Maybe it couldn't be put back on, but maybe it could.

Dean's eyes went wide. A shocked laugh burst out, then he was shaking his head, tears in his eyes as he said, "Your arm's still attached, Sammy."

"Is?"

"Yes, it is." Dean smiled, still shaking his head. He brushed a hand through Sam's hair. "Your arm's fine. Well, you need a lot of stitches, but it's fine. Fine-ish."

Someone else laughed about that, but Sam just concentrated on holding his brother's gaze. There was nothing but absolute sincerity in Dean's eyes.

"Ok."

"Ok," Dean said, his smile a little wider.

Sam smiled back.

He'd been left for dead but Dean had found him and that was all that really mattered in the end.

~the end~

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! Take care and I'll catchya with another fic in the near future!


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